At the End of Day
by GargoyleKnight
Summary: This story takes place during the Age of Fire and centers around two characters, the Furtive Pygmy and the first Blade of the Darkmoon. At the end of day, Gods pray for light, whilst man struggles to know who will rule in the night.
1. Chapter 1: The Summit

Chapter 1: The Summit

The great hall of Anor Londo, usually a place of grand decorum, was now instead a chamber filled with ill-concealed rage balancing on one man's words. Lord Gwyn stood at the end of the long rectangular table, his scarlet eyes boring down upon the figure standing upon the table's surface. The figure was far smaller than anyone else within the hall, yet he still commanded all attention. Noxus, the wielder of the Dark Soul, was usually easily overlooked, even by humans, but not this time.

The man slowly turned, looking at all those within the great hall. Seath the Scaleless, the mighty albino dragon taking much of one side of the hall, stared down at him with a grim sneer revealing gleaming white fangs. The Witch of Izalith, the only one seated, looked at Noxus mournfully, her black, gold trimmed robes hiding everything but her pale face and burned hands. Sir Ornstein, standing on Gwyn's right side, glowered at him angrily, his leonine helm under one arm and his spear clutched in his right hand. The primordial serpent, Frampt, was coiled about a pillar, his disgusting face gazing at Noxus with intense interest.

"So," Noxus began, "the dragons have been broken for nigh on twenty years now. Thine fire still burns brightly, Sun King." He raised a hand to Gwyn. "Thine city grows, thine people flourish. Bride of Flame, thine Children of Chaos grow in power and wisdom," he continued his eyes now on the Witch. "And Seath, Hallowed Traitor, thou art now a Duke with an archive for thine… research." The dragon chuckled when called "Hallowed Traitor."

"And the Dead Lord is prospering within his domain of decay." Noxus removed his helm and placed it beside him as he took a seat on the tabletop. "Yet, we must accept that all things cometh to an end. The Age of Ancients ended in lightning, flame, clouds of vitriol, and oh so many swords. Thus we defeated the dragons of old. This, our Age of Fire, must end as well, but thou must all realize that we can oversee the transition, and make it something peaceful." Noxus warily watched their reactions with his bright amber eyes.

Gwyn brought a stone hard fist down on the table, making the entire hall quake. Noxus clutched his Arch Tree catalyst tighter, his shadow extending with his power. "What art thou whimpering about, Pygmy?!" The Lord of Sunlight roared. "Scores of mine own loyal knight laid their lives down for what we have accomplished! Art thou insinuating that we should cast their sacrifice aside and allow the flames to diminish into darkness?!"

"Lord Gwyn is right, Noxus. We can't simply lay in repose as light disappears. And how canst thee be certain that the flames even will fade? Thine power is strong, human, yet, darkness shan't ever conquer light." The Witch of Izalith spoke, her melodious voice haunting Noxus.

"It is not a question of darkness conquering light, nor am I stating that anyone's sacrifice shall be in vain. It is simply the natural way of things, day turns into night, and night turns into day." Noxus answered.

"Thy logic is sound, Lord Noxus." Frampt finally spoke, his square, yellow teeth clacking noisily together. "Yet, we art all denizens of this world which each of thou hath created. My brother, Kaathe, agrees with thee, he yearns for darkness, and he starves for the fading of the light. But, the flames are what giveth thou all power, even thine Dark Soul was a spawn of the Great Flame. Why wouldst thou desire to throw thine own power away?"

"He shan't lose his power, serpent. Noxus, like all humans, doth be a creature of darkness." The Witch spoke again, her tone sad. "When light was born, darkness too was created, yet the two can exist without one another."

"Darkness doth not represent destruction! Why art thou so terror-stricken by its advent?" Noxus queried, bewildered by their steadfast denial.

"Silence, Noxus!" Lord Gwyn bellowed with a sweep of his fist. "Darkness doth be a plague, a malicious shadow stretching far so as to spread its evil!"

Noxus's amber eyes narrowed as he beheld the Lord of Sunlight. "Art thou suggesting that I am evil, Sun King Gwyn?" His voice was cold steel.

"My lords, please! This city is a place of peace and plenty lay thine animosity to rest," The Witch said, raising her hands and gazing at the two with concern flashing in her golden eyes. The Witch of Izalith had seen enough blood and violence during her time; she had no desire to see the two within the great hall of Anor Londo, especially not between two former comrades.

Sir Ornstein now had his helm on and was holding his spear, the fabled dragonslayer, at the ready. The brave knight did not know whether he could defeat Noxus or not, but he had to defend Lord Gwyn at all costs. Seath was watching the two in mild amusement, his pale eyes flicking between them. Frampt was completely silent; he had decided that listening and waiting were far safer than speaking his mind.

With a sigh, Noxus slowly stood, replacing the bucket-like helm upon his head. "Thou art correct, Bride of Flame, this place should never be exposed to the harsh consequences of war. I shall be taking my leave now, for it would seem that my words fall upon deaf ears." He stalked down the length of the table, his head downcast, and his armor rattling with each step.

The Witch watched him go, her eyes clouded with solemn sadness. She had always liked Noxus, he was a silent, terse sort of man, yet he always had had a sense of honor about him. But, now she realized that he was dangerous, possibly more dangerous than the dragons had been. She kneaded her long fingers together and laid her hands in her lap, she looked over to Lord Gwyn. He was glaring at Noxus's retreating form, his fiery eyes alive with contempt. Gwyn was a good, just ruler, and had always been charismatic and strong willed, yet the Witch couldn't help but find his volatile hatred for Noxus… worrisome.

She then looked upward at the dragon, Seath. He had said nothing during the summit; in fact, the Witch wondered if he even cared for what they were discussing. She had never trusted Seath, and she believed his sadism to possibly be as dangerous as Noxus's ideology. Currently, the white dragon was staring back at her, his fangs gleaming and his blue tongue flicking in and out of his tremendous maw. Finally, he looked away, laughing slightly under his breath.

Last of all, she took a tentative glance over her shoulder at the serpent, Gwyn's secret adviser. He seemed absorbed in thought, and she recognized the same worry and fear in his huge red eyes that she felt. The Witch didn't know much of anything about Frampt, he had been in league with Seath during the Dragon War, yet it seemed the two shared nothing beyond that. She also knew he had a brother, Kaathe, and that the two had an intense rivalry. Aside from that, the primordial serpent was an enigma. Despite the conundrum he represented, Frampt seemed to truly have the interests of the world at heart.

The two giant sentinels opened the massive doors for Noxus, and his small frame disappeared into the night. "What doth thou wish, Your Majesty?" Sir Ornstein asked, his deep voice breaking the silence left in the man's wake. The Witch looked at the anger in Gwyn's face, and grew nauseated with concern.

"I shall escort him out of the city; thee need not concern thy selves." The Witch spoke hurriedly, standing to her incredible height. Gwyn flashed his face upon the Witch, and for a moment it seemed as if he would contradict her.

"Yes, the city is still under construction, I wouldst not wish him to become lost," the Lord of Sunlight grumbled. "The rest of thee, this summit is concluded. Return to thine Archive Seath. Ornstein, check upon my daughter. Frampt, thou stay, I have things I wish to discuss with thee in private."

Bowing her head, the Witch quickly retreated from the hall, her robes whirling around her long legs. She felt Seath staring at her, but she ignored him and rushed out the doors in pursuit of Noxus. It took her a few seconds to grow used to the darkness outside, growing impatient, the Witch extended her hand forward and a small green flame appeared in her charred palm, illuminating things around her with incredible clarity. Looking down the huge staircase leading up to the citadel, the Witch saw Noxus making his slow descent. She stepped forward and began gliding down the steps, her bare feet hovering above the white marble. She overtook Noxus easily.

Noxus looked over his shoulder at the black robed woman gliding towards him, her hood blowing off, revealing her raven locks and more of her saturnine face. Her golden eyes glowed warmly and her full lips curled into a sad smile. "What doth thou want now? I am in no mood for further talk," he growled, turning away from the Witch's splendid beauty.

She slowed beside him, easily standing twice as tall. "That is fine, Noxus. I recall a time when thou never spoke at all. I used to think thou were so much like Nito. It was such a surprise when thou finally did speak that I began to believe Nito could as well." She laughed quietly, hiding her smile behind her hand.

"Yes, well I had naught anything to say," Noxus sighed, casting a glance towards the stars.

"It would seem that my youngest daughter, Quelaan, has naught to say as well. She doth be so silent it worries me much of the time, even young Queroth speaks regularly," The Witch was glad that she and Noxus could still talk like this; things seemed simpler when they talked.

"Give her time, she was but a child during the Dragon War, perhaps it still haunts her." Noxus consoled her, angry that he still enjoyed these trivial conversations.

The Witch sighed heavily. She regretted nothing more than exposing her children to the desolation of war. Quelaag and Quelana had taken it in stride; them being the oldest, the others, especially Quelaan, still seemed affected by it. "She doth be so frail, of mind and body, I truly wonder if she shall ever come to terms with it."

"Perhaps thou should send her out into the world. Give her some solitude away from thine home. Izalith is a confining realm after all."

"But, things art still dangerous outside of Izalith and Anor Londo, drakes roam freely out of their valley and the humans grow…" she stopped herself, realizing what she had just said.

"And the humans grow more and more dangerous with each setting of the sun. I realize the faults of my people, and I know that Gwyn and thee share mistrust for us." Noxus replied concisely, tapping the heavy catalyst against his shoulder.

"Noxus I… I trust thee, should not that be enough?" She wondered if she was telling the truth. After the summit, she wondered if she did trust Noxus anymore.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and continued towards the twisting lift. Noxus was silent for a while, only his armor and his tapping catalyst making a sound. Two patrolling silver knights passed them; both the Witch and Noxus noticed the disdainful looks they gave the human. "If that is true, thou art the only one who does," Noxus responded, his voice scarce above a whisper.

The Witch looked down upon Noxus, tears coming to her eyes unbidden. Wiping them quickly away with her sleeve, she continued. "I do believe thou to be right, though. Quelaan needs time on her own. Perhaps I shall send her here; the young lady Gwynevere could use a companion other than her foolhardy brother."

The two climbed the stairs to the lift, the scraping sound of the metal grating upon their nerves. "I wouldst not trust even this place. There are suspicious elements here as well, Bride of Flame." Noxus stepped on the lift as it came down for them. The Witch followed.

"Do not call me that, thou know my true name. And whatever doth thou mean, Noxus? Of what elements doth thou speak?" She asked; weary of his disliking of Anor Londo.

"I speak of the Hallowed Traitor. His serpentine eyes follow young maidens about as a predator's would. He is closer to evil than the darkness thou all fear so." His answer made the Witch shiver, she had forgotten about Seath.

"Yes, Seath is rather unsavory. Yet, with Lord Gwyn and his Four Knights so close, doth thou honestly think the dragon would do something so vile?" She tried to reassure herself of the city's safety.

Noxus laughed gruffly. "Gwyn trusts the Hallowed Traitor, elsewise he would not have named him duke. Ornstein is implicitly loyal to Gwyn, Ciaran is but an assassin, Gough is too dimwitted to see the Traitor's ill intentions and Artorias… Artorias can be trusted."

They stepped off of the lift and made their way towards an area where the walls were still being constructed. "Then, where wouldst thou recommend I send Quelaan?" The Witch asked pensively.

"That doth be something thou should ask of her," Noxus answered before raising his catalyst to the night sky. It pulsed with his dark magic and a shrill screech answered its call. From beyond the walls of Anor Londo a dark form flew out of the night, its black wings carrying itself effortlessly. The Witch watched as the crow demon descended from the sky towards them. The creature tucked its legs under Noxus's arms and with another screech, hoisted itself and its master into the air.

The Witch of Izalith watched the two slowly disappear into the darkness. She extinguished the green light and hovered alone in the night. How she wished she could trust him.


	2. Chapter 2: Fifty Years Later

Chapter Two: Fifty years later

Noxus gazed over the treetops. He could see the climbing towers of Oolacile, such a bustling township, the people so good, the children so healthy, and the faith in Gwyn unmarred. Noxus ground his teeth in rage, his lurid eyes narrowing under his arched eyebrows. From atop the tree in which he perched, Noxus stared hatefully at all that the Lord of Sunlight had accomplished. Yet, what truly angered Noxus was the fact that even his own kin, humans, had forgotten what _he_ had accomplished in the Dragon War. They revered Gwyn, and his solicitous knights, they viewed the Witch of Izalith and her children with awe, they even recognized that miasmic heap of decay, Nito, as a deity. If they remembered Noxus at all, it was as The Pygmy. He, who bore the Dark Soul, he who had ripped out part of the root of an Arch Tree to make a catalyst with which to channel his dark magic, he who single handedly laid the dragon D'spayre low, and yet they treated him as a pariah.

Perhaps it was because he scoffed in the Sun King's face when offered a place at court, or maybe it was due to the drabness of his appearance, or maybe it was because he was of the Dark, and humans and Lords alike only wished to behold that which is light. But, Noxus truly had no desire to be recognized, much less worshipped, he only wanted his people, humans, to understand that darkness was nothing to fear, just as the shadows and night were nothing to hold in contempt. For, humans, despite all their delusions, all had bits of the Dark Soul within them, in fact it is what made them human, for when humanity fades, death comes.

Averting his eyes from Oolacile, Noxus leapt from the treetop to the ground far below. He landed with a soft thump amongst the leaves and twigs, his iron armor rattling slightly. Noxus was average sized for a human man, his features were sharp yet unremarkable, he had ash grey hair, and strange amber eyes, but this was all hidden behind his bucket-like helmet. The armor he wore was simply thick iron chainmail with plate vambraces and greaves. The only ornamentation was the plain grey surcoat he wore over it and a pair of pauldrons made of raven feathers. To most, he appeared much like a simple soldier, or perhaps a lowborn knight, but nothing more.

"Didst thou see what thou desired?" a sharp, girl's voice purred from beneath a fallen tree.

Noxus met the gaze of twin green eyes glowing from the darkness beneath the moss covered log. "Alvina." he growled disdainfully. "Spying upon me for thine lord, the Sun King? Doth he truly worry about me so?" The words dripped sarcasm.

The eyes disappeared. "I notice thou art as droll as ever, Noxus," the voice was now in the branches of the tree he had just leapt from. "I bring ill tidings I am afraid."

Noxus looked up at the white cat, annoyed that she couldn't stay in the same place. She was playfully cocking her head at the human warrior, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. Noxus clenched his fists tightly at his sides and stifled his anger. He always hated dealing with Alvina, she always seemed to be playing a game. "Get on with it," he snarled.

"That redoubtable knight, the good Sir Artorias, is searching for thee, and I fear with that wolf of his, he shan't be long in his arrival." she giggled, slowly crawling on the branch until she was hanging upside down right above Noxus's head.

Noxus's amber eyes grew wide with surprise and his body went rigid. Then, it was true, Gwyn was truly looking for him. "And how dost thou know that this is an ill tiding? Doth the Wolf Knight seeketh my blood?" Noxus asked, instinctively grabbing the hilt of the longsword at his side.

"No, no, nothing of the sort. Sir Artorias is far too noble to be reduced to Lord Gwyn's assassin. Yet, I did hear mention of a 'summoning.' Perhaps, the Sun King, as thou name him, desires thine company!" she disappeared with a snide snicker, leaving Noxus to contemplate her words.

"Artorias, eh?" Noxus murmured to himself. He threw one last quick look towards Oolacile, before turning away and walking deeper into the wood. He had someone to talk with before he dealt with the Wolf Knight. Noxus hoped he could reach the hidden sanctuary before the knight found him. "Damn, wasted too much time bathing in mine own bitterness," he berated himself.

Noxus began running, the Arch Tree catalyst tapped against the back of his legs and his armor rattled noisily with each stride. Artorias and his wolf could easily run Noxus down, but the human figured he could at least give it a try. Unlike other humans, however, Noxus had incredible endurance, and even in armor, could run for hours on end. He just hoped that Alvina's words gave him a long enough lead.

Matilde stood on a balcony overlooking part of the grand city of Anor Londo. Her brass armor felt heavy on her shoulders, yet she dare not remove it, she didn't know whether she would be needed or not. Lord Gwyn had entrusted her with the task of guarding his estranged son, Gwyndolin, and Matilde took her responsibility to heart. Turning away from the city, she looked into the bed chamber at her charge. The frail looking boy was sitting upon a wooden chair beside the fireplace reading some ancient tome, he wore white robes with floral patterns woven into the hem and sleeves. Regularly, Matilde would be outside the chamber doors, but the prince said her presence soothed him.

Matilde liked Gwyndolin, he was a feminine boy to be sure, yet he was exceedingly intelligent and lived only to make his father proud. But, she did mistrust one thing about him; his interest in Seath's teachings. Until recently, Matilde had been Bishop Havel's most trusted cleric, and she shared his distaste for sorcery. Yet, she had to remember she wasn't in service to the Bishop any longer, she had to learn to get used to the ways of the Lords.

"Thou art so intent, my lady. What is on thine mind, may I ask?" Gwyndolin suddenly ascertained without looking up from his dusty book.

Matilde coughed nervously. "Thou flattereth me, Prince Gwyndolin, thou knowest I am no 'lady'. I am just thine humble servant," she bowed her head to the young lord.

"Ah, yes, I knoweth this very well. Yet I also have made acquaintance with a great number of so-called ladies, and not one of them share the same purity of will and strength of character that thou hath." he laughed, glancing up from his reading, his pale vermilion eyes meeting her brown ones. "But, thou hath not answered my query, Matilde."

"There is naught on my mind, my Prince, except that perhaps thou wouldst desire to attend the summit? 'Tis about thine brother after all," Matilde answered, as she made her customary look about the chambers to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary.

Gwyndolin was silent for a good stretch of time. He stared into the fire place with a blank expression, his elegant fingers rubbing the tome's pages absently. "Father doth not wish for my presence," he finally spoke, his voice sad. "The Witch of Izalith, Seath the Scaleless, Seneschal Frampt, Sir Ornstein, they shall all be there. As well as Solaire. They will look from him to me, Matilde, and witness the curse that has befallen Anor Londo."

Matilde could feel his pain consume the chamber like a shroud. The newly appointed knightess gripped her crescent axe tighter, and averted her eyes from the woebegone boy. She knew all too well how ashamed Gwyndolin was of his frailty, and how his self confidence waned especially when in the presence of his tall, burly , golden haired, carnelian eyed brother. Yet, despite his physical imposement and battle prowess, Prince Solaire had lost the Annals as well as failed to protect several outlying hamlets from the black dragon Kalameet. Lord Gwyn was not a forgiving king, especially of his own blood. The summit was to vote where Prince Solaire would be banished to.

The young knightess could not bear to see the Prince so weak. She knew Gwyndolin could be stern, she knew he was brave in his own way, and she also knew that he was just as powerful as Solaire. An idea, whether extremely stupid or wildly intuitive Matilde didn't know, sprang into her head. "I believe that the Pygmy shall also be present, my Prince. Good Sir Artorias told me as much before he left to search for the reclusive Lord."

That brought Gwyndolin out of his melancholy and his fanatic curiosity appeared in his eyes. Since he was but a young child, the deeply intelligent prince had been documenting the lives of each First Lords since the birth of the Great Flame. He had already written his father's story, as well as the Witch of Izalith's. All that remained was Gravelord Nito within the Tomb of the Giants, and the ever wandering Pygmy. Obviously, when he asked to journey into the Tomb, Lord Gwyn had refused his precocious child, even when Gwyndolin said that Matilde would be with him. But, when Gwyndolin expressed a desire to search for the Pygmy, Gwyn had grown furious, and banned further talk of the human, even his name had been banished from Anor Londo.

"But-but Father hath banished any sort of talk of the Pygmy, why wouldst he bringeth him into the very city?" Gwyndolin asked excitedly.

"I am not apart of the the King's privy council, and therefore, such information is far above my station. Yet, I believe that should thou attend the summit thou couldst discover the truth for thyself," she couldn't help but smile now.

"Then, 'tis decided, Matilde, we shall attend the summit! We shall meet this Pygmy and discover why Father despises him so," Prince Gwyndolin cried as he sprang from his chair and laid his long, pale hands upon Matilde's shoulders. The knightess was surprised by the sudden movement, and looked up at the prince with curiosity in her large brown eyes. His long platinum blonde hair fell slightly in front of his androgynous face, it was not a wonder that many when first meeting Gwyndolin believed him to be a girl.

" 'We', my Prince?" Matilde asked uncertainly, knowing that she would be woefully out of place amongst such exalted company. Gwyndolin smiled broadly, his vermilion eyes twinkling.

"But, of course, my loyal guardian. A prince canst go nowhere without his escort," was his enthusiastic answer. Matilde sucked in her breath apprehensively, things were about to get quite complicated. Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned the Pygmy after all.


	3. Chapter 3: Banishment

Chapter Three: Banishment

Noxus came upon the clearing so quickly it very nearly surprised him. Stopping abruptly, the slim man gazed up at the lone tower in the clearing center, wild vines clinging to its brick walls. Sitting upon the cracked steps leading to the tower's single oaken door was a pale, dark haired adolescent boy wearing a dirty roughspun tunic over his scrawny shoulders and a huge dusty tome in his lap. "Manus," Noxus spoke, slightly out of breath.

The ghost-like youth looked up from the text, his huge brown eyes surprised that he was no longer alone. A wide grin split his thin face. "Master Noxus! Thou hast returned sooner than usual!" his voice was filled with joy as he slammed the book shut and placed it on a step beside him.

Noxus smiled slightly under his helm. He had found the boy over ten years ago, starving on the roadside outside the small village that would eventually become Oolacile. All he had on his person was simple stone pendant, apparently a gift from his dead mother. Ever since that day, Noxus had raised the boy to be his successor, the person that would oversee the transition into the Age of Dark. He had taught him his dark sorcery as well as swordplay, though, due to the boy's inherent clumsiness he was a mediocre practitioner of the blade at best. Yet, he was very proficient with magic, and he showed wisdom beyond his sixteen years.

"I found what I was looking for in a rather faster period of time then I thought." Noxus replied, marching quickly over to his young disciple. Reaching into his rucksack, Noxus retrieved a stone tablet encasing a grinning skull. "'Tis a purging stone."

"Ah!" Manus exclaimed. "A purging stone ist only object that canst break a curse, where didst thou find it?"

"That doth not matter. Manus, I do not have the time to study this, for the Wolf Knight shalt be arriving soon to taketh me to Anor Londo. I left the moldings for the ring in mine chambers, 'tis up to thou to construct the ring band." Noxus spoke quickly, looking over his shoulder at the tranquil forest behind him; an apprehensive feeling was swirling in his stomach.

"But, Master, I do not understand, I thought thou hated Anor Londo?" Manus spoke confusedly. "If Gwyn expects thee to bow and scrape to him, I shalt assist thee in laying him low!" The young man said indignantly standing to his modest height. Noxus chuckled at his apprentice's brashness. Despite being small and soft-spoken, Manus was a rather cocksure boy, unafraid to challenge those more intimidating than himself.

"I bow and scrape to nothing, Manus, and never shalt; yet, I have someone I desire to… speaketh with." Noxus answered, his voice quieting slightly with these last words.

"The Witch of Izalith?" Manus queried in a whisper. Noxus went rigid.

"I gave thee a mission, did I not? My going to Anor Londo is none of thine concern." Noxus snapped impatiently. Manus shrunk backwards, trying not to smile. Noxus noticed the boy's hidden mirth.

"It has naught to do with the Bride of Flame, if thou must know." Noxus informed him concisely. "'Tis that serpent, Frampt, that I must share words with. I only wish 'twas on my own terms rather than the Sun King's."

"What if things turn sour? I should accompany thee," Manus said, picking up the tone he had placed aside.

"And if things doth turn sour, how wouldst thou assist me? The Four Knights, the Sun King, the Hallowed Traitor, and the Sunlight Prince shalt all be there, even I wouldst be overwhelmed easily." Noxus informed the dark haired boy. "And aside from that, I do not believe it shalt go badly with the Bride of Flame and Frampt present, they are prudent and would not allow violence to erupt."

Manus seemed unconvinced, but he didn't press the subject. "Very, well, Master. I trust thee to tread lightly and return soon." Taking the purging stone in his hand, Manus turned about and walked back into the tower. Noxus watched him shut the door before turning around.

"Thou canst come out now Wolf Knight." The man spoke, his voice a winter chill.

"I didst not wish to interrupt thine conversation, Noxus. I recall thine hatred for discourtesy." A solemn yet beautiful voice, like the howling of wolves or the rush of an avalanche, emerged from the forest. Sir Artorias and his companion Sif stepped from foliage and into the waning sunlight.

"What is it that the Sun King desires? What is the purpose of this summit?" Noxus asked, stepping towards the pair warily.

The tall knight in his blue and grey armor felt refreshed, he missed the no-nonsense manner in which Noxus spoke. The two neither liked nor disliked one another, yet there was a near tangible respect they regarded each other with. Ornstein distrusted the human, and disliked him for the same reasons as Lord Gwyn. Ciaran was indifferent towards Noxus, understanding that someday she may be sent to end his life. Gough, ever affable, liked Noxus and greeted the human warmly every time he saw him, which was why Noxus avoided the giant bowman as if he had a plague.

"'Tis the banishment of Prince Solaire, my lord." Artorias explained. "He lost the Annals, as well as making other foolhardy mistakes that Lord Gwyn dare not overlook nor forgive. He wishes thine presence for thou knowest most of the human settlements, and Lord Gwyn desires thy opinion of them."

Noxus narrowed his eyes under his helm; he highly doubted that Gwyn truly wanted his opinion, considering how badly their last encounter played out. But, the human trusted Sir Artorias. Noxus sighed raggedly. _And I am off again,_ he thought bitterly.

The summit was beginning. Matilde peeked nervously through the huge double doors at those gathered within. At the end of a long rectangular table made of stone, sat Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, with his faithful captain, Dragonslayer Ornstein standing slightly behind him. On the left side of the hall, taking up much of the space, was Seath the Scaleless, Duke of the Archives, with three individuals dressed in blue robes adorned with gold and tall, multi-eyed helms seated relatively close to one of his tentacles. On the right side, sat the Witch of Izalith with her eldest daughter, Quelana, seated beside her, nervously running her fingers through her straight black hair. And finally, at the end opposite his father, stood Solaire, wearing naught but a simple white tunic and breeches, his sunlight straight sword and his sunlight shield on the table before him.

"The Pygmy hath not arrived yet, my Prince," Matilde whispered to Gwyndolin, who was standing behind a pillar, awaiting her appraisal of the situation.

"And pray tell what ist thou doing here, Knightess?" a familiar voice suddenly asked from above her. Looking quickly upward, Matilde saw the serpent Frampt winding his way down from a window above.

"She ist mine escort, seneschal." Prince Gwyndolin stated, whirling around the pillar, his immaculate white and silver robes catching the moonlight enigmatically.

"Ah, young Prince Gwyndolin! I didst not know that thou art attending the summit." Frampt replied in surprise, his teeth clacking together in a grotesque manner.

"But of course I am, seneschal, 'tis about the fate of mine only brother after all," Gwyndolin replied concisely before breezing into the hall. Matilde followed her closely, nervously clutching her crescent axe, and trying not to sweat.

Lord Gwyn looked up at his frail son in surprise as Gwyndolin entered. Ornstein leaned close to the Lord of Sunlight and whispered something, only to have Gwyn wearily shake his head. Gwyndolin did not look out of place amongst the others despite his lack of confidence. His beautiful robes were as white as moonlight and trimmed with a brilliant silver cloth. But, most of all, his coronet of silver and amethysts gleamed with such an austerity that it nearly mirrored that of its wearer. The brass armored knightess behind him also seemed to add to his authority.

Matilde felt a little more comfortable seeing that Lady Quelana was roughly the same size as her, and Seath's three companions were most likely human as well. But, gazing at the massive size of Seath was enough to make the knightess dizzy. Gwyndolin sat a few seats away from Quelana, casting a tentative glance the beautiful pyromancer's way. Matilde stood rigidly behind her charge, holding the crescent axe in front of her with both hands. Warily, she stopped focusing on the other summit attendees and began looking about the entire hall, as a sentinel should. She could not let her guard down, even with Captain Ornstein and Lord Gwyn present.

Prince Gwyndolin kneaded his fingers together and pressed them against his mouth in a thoughtful gesture. Lord Gwyn sat with his eyes closed and fists clenched tightly on the tabletop before him. Seath kept fidgeting, his serpentine head twisting this way and that. The Witch of Izalith was the picture of stoic composure, her hooded head bowed slightly, revealing only a single lock of wavy black hair. They sat in this fashion for a great while. The moon was at its zenith when Lord Gwyn finally spoke.

"Damn him. We must proceed, we have dallied far too long awaiting the Pygmy." The Lord of Sunlight growled, opening his fiery scarlet eyes.

"Hold, Lord Gwyn, let us giveth Noxus a few minutes more. If he should arrive here only to learn that we already conducted the summit, he shalt be very cross," The Witch of Izalith spoke, her haunting voice bringing decorum back to the chamber.

"I agreeth with Lord Gwyn, too much time hath been wasted on the foolish human," Seath spoke, his voice like the crackling of thunder.

"Yes, let us get on with this," Solaire grumbled angrily. The Witch looked from Solaire to Gwyn to Seath, her brilliant golden eyes filled with defeat.

"Nay, we must await the Pygmy. He doth represent the humans in this, doth he not?" Prince Gwyndolin spoke, to the surprise of all.

"Yes, the prince has the right of it." The Witch spoke warmly, gazing at her newfound comrade.

"I concur," Frampt said from his place coiled about a pillar behind Matilde. "Noxus may be mercurial, yet he hath good insight, I advise patience." The Witch gave the serpent a grateful look.

"No! I do not wait upon _Noxus_!" Lord Gwyn roared, showing his wrath to all present. The words had just left his mouth when the great double doors gave a tremendous groan. Slowly, they opened, letting a chilling night breeze into the hall.

Instead of two giant sentinels pushing the massive doors open, there only stood an armored man holding a catalyst pointed towards the inside of the hall, behind him, Matilde could vaguely make out the huge form of Sir Artorias shrouded in darkness. Two great ghost like beings composed of dark leapt from the doors and were sucked back into the gnarly staff. " 'Tis a lovely night, is it not my lords?" a tired voice queried from under the bucket-like helm upon the man's head.

Prince Gwyndolin let out a near inaudible gasp and the Witch of Izalith stood with a happy smile. Confused, Quelana stood as well, looking at the drably adorned man in puzzlement. Matilde too was taken askance by the Pygmy's appearance, she had imagined someone tall and stoic, perhaps dressed in armor ostentatiously dour and dark. Instead, his simple iron armor had many nicks, dents, and scratches and his surcoat was stained and threadbare. "Noxus! We were unsure when thou wouldst arrive." The Witch spoke kindly.

Noxus walked slowly into the hall, his armor rattling and his catalyst tapping on the marble as he used it like a walking stick. Lord Gwyn was glowering at the man in a way that Matilde had never seen before. "Yes, we hath been awaiting upon thee for much of the night now. " Gwyn rumbled.

"Well, perhaps if thou hadst sent thine knight out sooner, I wouldst hath arrived in time, Sun King," The Pygmy replied coldly. He passed by Solaire without a single word and hoisted himself onto the tabletop, his armor clanging against the hard stone. Once relatively in the table's center, the Pygmy removed his helm and sat down.

Matilde studied the face that had been hidden underneath the helm. It was sharp featured and lined with age, the eyebrows were arched, the eyelashes long, and his hair, held in a small braid behind his head, was whitish grey. The only thing particularly eye catching about this individual were his intense amber eyes.

"So, relateth to me the purpose of thine summit, Sun King," The Pygmy said, glaring back at Lord Gwyn.

"My son," Gwyn gestured to Solaire, "Hast committed numerous transgression and is on trial for banishment from my kingdom forthwith. Yet, an issue hath arisen, for we art unsure as to where he shalt be banished to."

Noxus glanced over his shoulder at the golden haired lord at the end of the table. A grin split the man's face. "And how doth that be my affair?" he asked.

"We were going to discuss each of our realms, and which wouldst provide the greatest trial for Solaire." The Witch of Izalith spoke, retaking her seat and her daughter following suit.

"Ah, so thou wishest for me to throw him into a human village somewhere? My, what tremendous punishment that wouldst be." Noxus laughed.

"We shalt _discuss_ it before a conclusion is reached," Gwyn growled. Noxus cocked his head and gave the Lord of Sunlight a mocking smile. "The Witch of Izalith shalt begin." Gwyn continued, raising a hand to the Witch.

"Izalith ist a well fortified city, with many of its denizens adherents to my daughter, Quelana's," she gestured to the beautiful girl beside her "magic, which she hast entitled 'pyromancy.' It is a confining place to be sure, and quite unlike Anor Londo in the aspect that 'tis underground. Above it layeth the heathen swamp Blighttown. I believe that banishment into Izalith could possibly be very helpful young Solaire, as the customs there are quite different than those of Anor Londo." She took her seat, folding her elegant hands in front of her.

Lord Gwyn nodded thoughtfully, casting his eyes from the Witch to Duke Seath. "And what dost thou hast to say about thine Archives, Seath?"The Lord of Sunlight asked of the albino dragon.

Seath looked down at Solaire disdainfully, his pale eyes like two great crystal orbs. "The Archives art so close to Anor Londo, my lord, I do not believe that I wouldst be able to contain such a canny warrior as thine son," the dragon answered, his tone almost mocking.

Solaire laughed heartily. "Thou art correct, dragon! Thine books and mages would be outmatched!"

Seath chuckled in response, yet his eyes spelled naught but hatred. "Silence! Thou hast no right to speak, Solaire!" Lord Gwyn snapped, quieting his son.

"A thought just came to me," Noxus spoke again, surprising them all. "Izalith is a beautiful citadel, rich in culture and ist not so different from Anor Londo in the fact that it too is a bustling bastion. Quite obviously, the Hallowed Traitor hast no desire to put up with thine impetuous child, so, that leaveth naught but the human settlements. Yet, why shouldst he be confined to but one? Young Solaire shouldst be sentenced to eternal wandering amongst the humans as one of them."

"Yes, a beautiful punishment 'tis." a cold voice whispered from the shadows on the balcony overlooking the hall. Looking up, Matilde saw the goddess Velka perched upon the railing, a cloak of raven feathers covering her thin body from shoulders to toes. Through a tangle of black hair, her luminescent emerald eyes were visible. "A lord forced to walk as a human, how positively devious! Oh, how I have missed thee Lord Noxus." she giggled.

"We have not cometh to punishment yet." Gwyn told the deity of sin. "Yet, Noxus raiseth a fair point. Izalith wouldst be far too comfortable for Solaire, the Archives art too close to Anor Londo. A human city wouldst lack the luxuries he ist used to, and being confined to human body wouldst provide a just embarrassment."

Noxus frowned at the insult and tapped his catalyst upon the table impatiently. Gwyndolin studied the wielder of the Dark Soul intently, his vermilion eyes glowing with curiosity. "Perhaps New Londo, then?" The prince interjected, attempting to gain the Pygmy's attention. He didn't notice his brother look his way with a hurt expression.

Noxus laughed. "That is a grand city as well. Even us humans art capable of creating things of beauty. No, if thou wishest to punish Solaire, sendeth him not to New Londo nor Thorolund. There ist a small country, far to the west, called Astora. A certain Duke of a neighboring country hath kept the place under his despotic rule, and therefore the place ist destitute and underdeveloped."

Lord Gwyn nodded solemnly. "I hast heard of the land called Carim, ist this the neighboring country of which thou speaketh?" he asked. Noxus responded by nodding noncommittally.

"What art thine opinions?" Gwyn asked of those gathered.

"I agreeth with Noxus, this Astora seemeth to be a suitable place for banishment." The Witch of Izalith answered placidly.

"How canst I argue?" Seath rumbled, smiling broadly, his fangs gleaming white.

"Yes, yes, such a divine punishment. Rescind his godhood and sendeth him to Astora as a feeble human." Velka chirped, her thin girlish voice filled with excitement.

"Very good, then 'twould seem this hath been settled, this 'feeble' human shalt be returning from whence he came," Noxus said, getting to his feet.

"But, how doth we intend for Solaire to arrive in this Astora? We cannot give him a grand entrance, it would contradict the act of banishing him." Gwyndolin spoke quickly, trying to stall the Pygmy's departure. Solaire looked down at the floor, feeling betrayed.

"Yes, thou art quite correct, Prince Gwyndolin," Frampt spoke for the first time since Noxus's arrival. "A human should guide Solaire there." Noxus groaned loudly.

"Then, send him with Havel damn it! The Bishop is capable of escorting a mewling princling." Noxus demurred, knowing where this was going. "I am not a damnable emissary, nor a prison guard!"

"Currently, Bishop Havel is in Thorolund, preaching Gwyn's holy word." Ornstein enlightened Noxus. "All other humans Solaire could easily overwhelm."

"This was a trap! Thou brought me here to do something _beneath_ all of thee!" Noxus growled at those present. Suddenly, he whirled upon Solaire, raising his catalyst and allowing his dark magic to pulse through the heavy staff. "I couldst kill him right now and remove the thorn from all of thine sides forever!"

Matilde jumped up on the table between Prince Gwyndolin and the Pygmy, her crescent axe ready. Ornstein did the same with Lord Gwyn, his spear alive with writhing lightning. "Enough!" The Witch of Izalith cried out. "This is no such thing, Noxus, and killing Solaire would only result in more strife. Lower thine weapon and let us talketh more." Noxus's dark magic slackened but did not disappear.

"If thou wishest for me to play thine messenger boy, then I must demand a boon in return," Noxus spoke lowering his catalyst.

"Thou canst demand nothing of us, Pygmy!" Gwyn spat derisively. "Thou art naught but a weak human, born of darkness and to darkness thou shalt return!" The Lord of Sunlight rose from his seat, his greatsword, wreathed in flame, sliding over his broad shoulder.

Noxus glowered at his age old rival. Slowly, like smoke rising from a smoldering blaze, small, black sprites began to arise from the armored man. The shadows in the room grew darker, the light of the braziers became that of candles, and Matilde's knees began to quake in involuntary fear. Sir Artorias drew his own sword, preparing to leap at the Pygmy. Noxus's eyes burned like cold fire, his pupils like two pools of shadow within frozen oceans of amber.

It was Velka who broke the steel hard silence. "Lord Noxus ist not thine slave, Lord Gwyn. Thine animosity sullies this great city and shames us all. What boon dost thou desire, Lord Noxus?" her girlish voice seemed to be on the verge of hysterical laughter.

Noxus continued staring at Gwyn as he answered. "'Tis but a trinket, Avenging Princess, a ring of thine power, in fact."

Velka grinned. "A ring of sacrifice, is it?" she giggled. "Thou couldst hath acquired one without all this contention, my lord. So be it, taketh young Solaire to Astora, and I shalt giveth thee one of mine rings."

Noxus closed his eyes and nodded. The Witch of Izalith breathed a sigh of relief. Light steadily returned to the room, and Matilde's heart rate slowed. The knightess looked at all those present, hoping nobody else would do something foolish.


	4. Chapter 4: Run Away

Chapter Four: Run Away

Noxus had hoped the farce would be over when the summit was concluded. Alas, luck wasn't looking favorably upon the grey haired man. Apparently, there was still a banishment ceremony to conduct. Noxus hoped there would be an opportunity to speak with Frampt soon. Solaire was escorted back to his small room by Ornstein and a pair of silver knights. Noxus wished he had an escort that would at least keep Gwyn's girlish son from pestering him.

The ghostly youth appeared in front of the smaller man in the courtyard, a human knight standing close behind him dressed in well polished brass armor. " 'Tis a pleasure to finally meet thine acquaintance, Lord Noxus!" the youth said excitedly.

"Ist that so? Thou art the Sun King's youngest begotten child, art thou not?" Noxus responded, placing his helm back on his head so the princeling wouldn't see his expressions.

"Yes, I am Gwyndolin, and this ist my stalwart guardian, the good Knightess Matilde of Thorolund." he gestured to the human behind him. Noxus inclined his head to the warrior, and she did the same. "This may seem forward of me, but I was wondering if thou were perhaps interested in assisting me in a personal endeavor of mine."

Noxus cocked his head quizzically, Before he could answer, he felt a familiar presence moving slowly behind him. "I see thou art introducing thyself to the final First Lord, Prince Gwyndolin." The Witch of Izalith spoke, her voice slightly uncertain, yet still warm and kind.

Noxus sighed, he truly wasn't in the mood for chatting. "Yes, my lady. He 'tis not what one would expect, given father's scorn for him."the Prince responded as if Noxus was no longer there.

"Enlighten me, what didst thou expect, Moonlight Prince?" Noxus asked, his tone bordering on the caustic.

The prince swallowed nervously, realizing his tactlessness. "Um, well, I had imagined thee to be something akin to the Gravelord, or at least an oppressive sort of man, yet thou art rather…" Gwyndolin let his voice trail off, dropping his vermilion eyes to the ground.

Noxus laughed abrasively. "And I am but a man after all, naught more, naught less." The Witch glided up beside Noxus, looking down at him curiously. Quelana stood partially hidden behind her mother's robe, her saffron eyes appraising the situation in stoic silence.

"Yet, when my father insulted thee, thou became something more than a man! Thine power was god-like!" Gwyndolin yelped, his voice full of admiration.

The mood suddenly darkened. The Witch nearly placed a hand on Noxus's shoulder, but hesitated. They were no longer friends, Noxus truly was an outsider now and the Witch realized that with sadness. "What ist thine personal endeavor that thou wishest my assistance with?" Noxus asked.

Gwyndolin brushed a strand of his platinum blonde hair out of his face and looked back at Matilde anxiously. "W-Well, 'tis a chronicle I am writing. About the lives of the First Lords, my father and Lady Izalith hath already contributed, all that remains ist the Gravelord Nito and thyself, Lord Noxus."

"Yes, 'tis an ambitious undertaking, to be sure, yet, there art only a few as ambitious as Prince Gwyndolin." The Witch said warmly, reassuring the timid prince.

"I am no lord, Moonlight Prince, just a man. And my life hast been only that of man as well. Therefore, 'tis of no consequence." Noxus spoke laconically before tapping his catalyst upon the white marble and walking away. Gwyndolin was distraught, his eyes wide confusion.

The Witch sighed deeply. "I apologize, Prince Gwyndolin. Noxus ist a man of few words and of fewer vanities, you must excuse his lack of courtesy." She watched the man disappear into the darkness, longing to say something, but knowing it wise to remain silent.

The banishment ceremony was an over bloated affair, it's unnecessary extravagance sickened Noxus. The beautiful goddess Fina was there, here tawny hair and sky blue eyes enchanting, her vanity and arrogance unbearable. The fire god Flann arrived late, his bellowing laughter and bright red hair grating on Noxus's nerves. Executioner Smough stood near the back with Noxus, his angry breathing and massive , muscular size making the far smaller human even more claustrophobic. Noxus kept his eyes upon the black clad Velka, though, her small, waifish body constantly disappearing and reappearing throughout the great courtroom. He had been avoiding the Bride of Flame, as well as Gwyn's androgynous child, Gwyndolin.

Finally, the ceremony ended and Noxus had a mission to complete. As the courtroom emptied, the nimble man jumped over the seats (human and giant sized alike) until he reached the railing that overlooked the circular court below. Grabbing the rail, Noxus flung himself into the air, falling the twenty feet to the marble floor below. He landed with a tremendous clang. Captain Ornstein, standing beside Solaire, watched the human apprehensively, whilst Gwyn was trying to hold his contempt back. Straightening, Noxus studied the banished prince. At the end of the ceremony, Velka and the Bride of Flame had used magic to change Solaire from lord into man, and now the golden haired princeling stood not much taller than Noxus, his white tunic draped over his shoulders like a huge tapestry. Solaire was distraught, his feet wobbly underneath him, his formerly carnelian eyes now a simple ruddy brown.

"Before I leave, I wouldst share words with thine adviser. Where doth Frampt be?" Noxus asked of Gwyn.

"Seneschal Frampt ist travelling to New Londo to bringeth the news to the Four Kings." Gwyn answered angrily. Noxus clenched his teeth in vexation, tapping his catalyst on the floor to keep himself from yelling aloud.

"Giveth the boy some clothes, we must away soon, Astora awaits." Noxus said, looking at the once prince with stark indifference.

Prince Gwyndolin was furious, Matilde could feel it. He stood out on the balcony, watching the sunrise with quaking vehemence. He had chosen not to attend the banishment ceremony, he had even commanded Matilde to leave the room when she had broached the subject. It hadn't been long before he demanded her presence, yet he still hadn't said nary a word to her. So, instead of possibly worsening his mood, the knightess decided to remain by the door, her crescent axe in one hand. Of course, she felt rather guilty, since it had been her who had told the prince about the Pygmy.

"Matilde," Prince Gwyndolin abruptly spoke, his voice cold. Quickly, the knightess turned about, swallowing worriedly. "Y-yes, my prince?" she asked.

He had turned around as well, the gold and scarlet sunlight framing his pale silhouette, the prince appeared truly angelic as a slight breeze stirred his silver gown and platinum blonde hair that fell slightly past his shoulders. "I hath grown tired of this sordid place. Let us be away, let us journey to the Tomb of the Giants, let us meet the Gravelord!" His voice was sad and desperate catching Matilde off guard.

"Um, my prince, thou knowest we cannot do that. The Gravelord's domain is one of death and carrion, I wouldst not go into such a cursed place with five hundred silver knights behind me." Matilde answered, her voice concerned. Gwyndolin looked down dejectedly.

"Fine, I shalt goeth by myself," he whispered sadly before raising a hand towards Matilde, palm open. A shiver ran through the knightess before her vision went black and she slumped onto the floor. When she reawakened, it was noon and Prince Gwyndolin was gone. Shooting up despite a bad case of vertigo, Matilde immediately ran to the balcony, hoping that Gwyndolin was only playing a trick on her. He wasn't, he really was gone. The knightess wanted beat her own head in for being so foolish. Instead, she ran across the chamber, flung the door open and raced into the hallway. She tore past curious onlookers, her brown eyes alive with fury. She _had_ to find the prince before he fell victim to the world outside Anor Londo.


	5. Chapter 5: Axe and Sword

Chapter Five: Axe and Sword

Matilde found herself lost in the sprawling cityscape, unsure where to go next. She had frantically ran out of the castle and into the city hoping to somehow catch up to the prince before he made it out of Anor Londo. She only realized later, when she was quite lost, that it was very likely that Prince Gwyndolin had already left and was possibly travelling down the mountainside even now. Slumping against the wall of a shop, the knightess looked to the ground in defeat. She had never explored Anor Londo, except for the places that Prince Gwyndolin frequented, which were mostly all within the castle anyway. Never before had Matilde felt like such an insipid bumpkin, unworthy of her knighthood.

"Art thou lost, good knightess?" a mocking voice ascertained from the window pane above her. Looking upwards, Matilde saw a small green-eyed crow perched above her.

"I am hearing things," Matilde murmured to herself, her eyes still fixed upon the strange bird. The crow giggled.

"Why art humans always so foolish? If thou wishest to find thine prince, thou shouldst follow me. If thou wishest to experience Lord Gwyn's wrath then thou shouldst continue moping here in thy self-pity." The crow spoke in a familiar girl's voice, making the knightess jump slightly in surprise.

"Thou soundeth like the goddess Velka!" Matilde yelped, jumping away from the wall and into the street.

"Yes, thou art very perceptive." the crow responded sardonically. "Now, art thou quite finished being a fool, or shouldst I find thee some motley?" Matilde stiffened at the insult.

"If thou knowest where Prince Gwyndolin ist, taketh me to him at once!" the knightess said stolidly, stomping a foot down to emphasize her point. With another girlish giggle, the crow fluttered into the air and flew southward. Matilde charged after the dark bird, racing around astonished pedestrians.

After a good duration of time, Matilde found herself at the southern gates. The knightess was covered in sweat and was quite out of breath, yet she knew she couldn't stop, especially if Gwyndolin truly had gotten this her surprise, the portcullis had already been raised, and the silver knights guarding the gate seemed asleep where they stood. Not concerning herself, Matilde continued following the dubious crow. Soon, they were outside the walls travelling down a winding tail.

Abruptly, the crow careened onto a juniper tree and its sparkling green eyes once again turned upon Matilde. "Wh-why art we halted?" the knightess asked, breathing heavily, sweat stinging her eyes.

The crow cocked its head and gave a loud _CAW!_ Matilde drew back in shock, instinctively she brought her crescent axe up, ready for anything. At least, she thought she was ready for anything. The crow began opening its beak, wider, wider, _wider_. It continued opening its maw until Matilde could see the wet redness of its throat, it grew and grew until the crow could easily swallow a man whole. Matilde's brown eyes were huge with disgust. She had fought heretics, she had fought drakes, she had even done battle with a rather unsavory necromancer named Valgort, but never before had she been exposed to this level of absurdity. As if to make things more horrifying, a black gloved hand began to extend itself from the glistening, veiny throat.

With a sickening gag, the crow began disgorging a human woman from its mouth. The woman was dressed in black robes and tights, an intricate mask covered her face, and at her waist was belted a rapier. With a wet plop, the woman dropped from the crow's mouth and landed on her feet in front of Matilde. "In the name of all that is holy, what ist happening?!" Matilde all but screamed.

The woman smiled and wiped slaver from her mask. The woman was small and lithe with piercing blue eyes. "'Twould never do for Prince Gwyndolin to die and his devoted guardian live." The woman stated darkly as she drew her devilishly sharp rapier and fell into a fighting stance.

Matilde's eyes narrowed and she unhesitatingly brought the crescent axe down in a double handed, overhead slash that would have split the assassin's skull had she remained to receive it. The woman was nimble, however, and rolled to the side. At blinding speed, the woman pushed off the ground and thrusted her razor keen blade into Matilde's side. Grunting, the knightess leapt away and swung her axe at the kneeling woman. The assassin ducked under the axe blade, and made another thrust, this one at Matilde's throat.

Matilde was a savvy warrior as well, though. Using the shaft of her axe, the knightess deflected the blade and kicked the woman hard in her chest, knocking her backwards. Whirling in a circle to gain momentum, Matilde swung her crescent axe with all her strength. The heavy bronze axe blade cleaved naught but air as the assassin somersaulted towards the knightess. The assassin thrusted in quick succession at Matilde's torso, hoping to skewer her opponent's heart or lungs. Matilde fell back under the onslaught, narrowly blocking the stinging sword. This woman was fast, faster than anyone Matilde had ever faced, and her sword was sharp enough to slide through her armor with relative ease. She had to end this quickly, or wind up a corpse.

So, the knightess gave ground, her axe shaft barely keeping the keen rapier from impaling her vital organs. The woman seemed not to tire even though her sword blade was flurrying with inhuman speed. Looking behind her, Matilde realized the assassin was pushing her towards the cliff. Gritting her teeth, the knightess made another blind swing at the assassin's sword arm. The woman simply sidestepped and drove her rapier painfully into Matilde's left shoulder. With a shout of pain, the knightess shot her offhand up and grabbed the hellish blade. The assassin's face dropped in startlement as she realized her sword was held fast.

"'Tis over, thou bloodthirsty harlot," Matilde growled before slicing the woman's sword arm just below her elbow.

The woman staggered back, clutching her spurting stump and screaming shrilly. Matilde jerked the rapier from her shoulder with a grunt. Tossing the weapon aside, the knightess jumped forward and grabbed the black garbed woman by the front of her robe and drew her close until her mask was but inches from Matilde's helm. "Where ist Prince Gwyndolin?!" she roared in the whimpering woman's face.

The assassin smiled. "Where he wanted to go, but I do believe the means of his arrival art not what he hath expected!" She laughed, her blue eyes alive with pain and mirth. Matilde scowled in contempt. Throwing the laughing woman down, the knightess brought her crescent axe down in a whooshing arc that ended with a wet crunch as the axe blade sliced the assassin's masked face in two. Letting out a tired breath, Matilde looked at her side where the rapier had pierced her flesh. Thin rivulets of blood streamed down the brass armor, and Matilde could feel the warm liquid spreading underneath the armor, soaking her white tunic.

The wound to her shoulder was superficial, but the one to her side could prove dangerous. Reaching to her belt, the knightess untucked her canvas talisman and performed a healing blessing. She felt warm light rushing through her body and her pain dissipated.

"Bravo! Thou truly art a formidable warrior, Matilde. I hath underestimated thee, but I believe that thou shalt find the Tomb insurmountable." The crow spoke from the juniper tree, its green eyes sparkling with merriment. Matilde stared at the trickster in near tangible loathing.

"Ist that where the Prince hast been taken?" she asked, to which the crow nodded. "Thou art Velka, yes? Why hast thou betrayed Lord Gwyn?"

"Because, the Lord of Sunlight hast sinned most heinously. Oh, they all hath, the Witch of Izalith, Seath the Scaleless, Gravelord Nito, yes, they hath all sinned. The Darkstalker knoweth these things as well as I, and we hath devised a most appropriate punishment." With a final sordid laugh, the crow flew away, its black wings moving without a sound.

Matilde stomped angrily, unsure whether to continue on to the Tomb of the Giants, or return to Anor Londo and warn Lord Gwyn of Velka's betrayal. Looking back at the walled city, Matilde made her decision. Prince Gwyndolin was her charge, she _must_ rescue him, at any cost. Turning away from Anor Londo, the knightess began running down the mountain trail. She continued running as the day wore on, her lungs burning and her legs numb. In the distance, the knightess could make out a man leading a mule that was harnessed to an old cart.

"Ho there, good sir, where are ye goin' in such a hurry?" the man asked, he was an old farmer with one eye and hardly any teeth. Stopping, Matilde tried to catch her breath. The old man just looked at her, a vacant smile on his kindly face.

"Old man, hast thou seen a girlish looking lad pass by? Or perhaps people dressed in strange black masks?" the knightess asked between gasps. The old farmer looked thoughtful for a second.

"Why yes, I recollect a strange, stately sorta fellow dressed in real fine black garments. He had this real nasty lookin' piece o' steel at his side. He asked about the same sorta lad you did, girlish lookin' right?" the old man spoke slowly. Matilde nodded, relieved that Velka's servants hadn't found the prince yet.

"Well, my wife said she saw this real beautiful maiden trekkin' down the mountain all on her lonesome, I reckon that could've been the lad. I told the man in black, 'is name was Osmund I believe, that too. It's possible he already found the lad." The old farmer continued.

Matilde nearly choked in anger. "Damn it," she whispered as she slammed the pommel of her axe on the ground. The old man frowned in puzzlement.

"This Sigmund fellow, is he not a… uh scrupulous sorta bloke?" the farmer asked nervously, realizing he may be punished for his hasty words by this obviously high born warrior woman.

Matilde shook her head angrily. "Nay, he ist an entirely villainous sort of individual, I wouldst ask how long ago was it that he went looking for the lad?" was her succinct reply.

"'Twas a few hours ago by my reckonin'. Since this is more or less my fault, I reckon it'd be the least I can do to lend ye my mule. Ye'll capture 'im faster if ye got a beastie to ride 'im down with." the farmer said, his tone heroic, but his mind hoping she'd take the mule and forget punishment.

Matilde looked at the mule. It was an old grey creature with knobby knees, but it was better than nothing. "I thanketh thee, what ist thine name? I shalt relate thine valor to Lord Gwyn himself when I return to Anor Londo." the knightess told the old man while she began unharnessing the indifferent mule. The old man's face brightened.

"Well, that'd be Joff, m'lady! Joff o' Merryberry, that's the nice little village on the edge o' the forest down there." He pointed vaguely down the side of the mountain. Matilde nodded and pulled the harness off of the mule. She took the grey beast's reins and led it away from the cart before swinging up bareback. The mule jumped slightly, made nervous by the armor Matilde wore, but the knightess kept her seat.

"I thanketh thee once more, Joff of Merryberry," she saluted the old farmer with her axe before kicking the mule and galloping the reluctant creature down the mountain trail. The farmer sighed raggedly.

"Well, how am I ta get my crops to the city now?" he grumbled aloud.


	6. Chapter 6: Comrades

Chapter Six: Comrades

Solaire found that travelling with Noxus was rather dull. The Pygmy was a quiet sort of fellow, and when he did speak, his dour voice was either dripping with sarcasm or annoyance. But, then again, Solaire wasn't in much of a mind to speak either. The former prince was still aghast at his transformation, he stumbled frequently, his sword and shield felt so much heavier even though they were appropriately human-sized as well, and now where he formerly had felt an empowering warmth there was naught but a sad feeling of emptiness residing within him. The former prince found himself on the brink of...what?

"Despair," Noxus murmured, his amber eyes looking back at Solaire.

Solaire halted abruptly, swallowing in apprehension. "W-what?" Solaire asked, his usually cocksure voice shaking slightly.

" 'Tis in thine eyes, princeling. Despair, a cold, hopeless feeling that can shatter the soul if thou alloweth it to. Lords doth not experience it that often, 'tis a _human_ emotion, for how canst an immortal truly comprehend a lack of hope?" Noxus continued casting his glance down the rocky mountain path they were travelling on. A cold breeze blew past the pair, making the raven feathers on Noxus's shoulders dance.

"How doth one combat it?" Solaire queried, his old fiery bravery rekindling at the thought of a challenge. Noxus smiled ruefully under his helm.

"By finding a purpose." The wielder of the Dark Soul whispered in response. "This should be far enough." He said before raising his catalyst skyward and summoning his servants.

From the ravine below two blood chilling screams resounded, making Solaire grab for his sword. Noxus laughed and tapped the heavy catalyst on his shoulder. "Calm thyself, princeling, they art naught but my humble servants." Noxus explained.

Two dark beasts burst over the rim of the ravine, their black wings creating a strong gust of wind that buffeted Solaire, making him stumble. The former prince had seen many strange things in his life, yet he had never beheld anything quite as disturbing as the two creatures that landed before them. They were tall with scrawny human legs and chests, but their arms were great black feathered wings and their heads were those of abnormally large crows. "Wh-what are they?" Solaire asked.

Noxus stroked one of the creature's dagger sharp beak. "During the Dragon War, a small number of thine father's silver knights joined me in the search for the tunneling wyrm, D'spayre. When we finally came upon the malevolent beast, his repulsive appearance, so unlike any other dragon we had seen before, struck fear into their hearts. As D'spayre turned upon us, the silver knights turned tail and attempted to flee from his wrath." The man's voice turned bitter. "I took my catalyst in my hands and charged headlong into the fray. With a sweep of his crippled wing, he cast me down the side of a ravine and I tumbled into the darkness below. My resolute armor saved me from sustaining heavy damage, yet believe me, being struck down a cliffside ist not without pain. D'spayre followed me down, his mighty bellow shaking the earth.

"I unleashed my dark lightning upon him and he struck at me with his claws. One claw could impale me as a needle transfixes a wasp. Yet, this wasp was not without a sting." Noxus lifted his archtree catalyst. "I allowed the Dark Soul to run rampant, it's poignant power flooding from my body and through the catalyst. The darkness was so great that even D'spayre's virulent flames could not illuminate the cavern. When the battle was over, the dragon's smoted ruin was crushed amidst great boulders, and I was barely clinging to life. What I did not know was that my unbridled power brought about strange occurrences. The cowardly knights had been transformed into these unnatural abominations, and D'spayre's corpse became a gluttonous, bile heaving creature, far weaker yet more contemptible. These crow demons became my leal servants, and the shadow of D'spayre still roams the subterranean tunnels below."

Solaire swallowed, he had not thought that a human could possibly be that powerful. The former prince realized why his father despised Noxus so. This laconic, abrasive individual was unhesitatingly brave and undeniably powerful, yet his strength came from shadow, from the night, all that Gwyn associated with evil and weakness. But, above all, this person was an equal to both the Witch of Izalith and the Lord of Sunlight himself, and Noxus was but a human. Solaire found himself respecting this furtive man more than he had respected any human before, in fact, he respected him more than most of the lords in Anor Londo.

"Enough dilly dallying, these two will take us to Astora much faster than if we went afoot." Noxus said as he put his catalyst in a sling across his back. Solaire nodded, his confidence rebuilding and the despair fading.

Matilde made the old mule run as long as he was able. The knightess was becoming more apprehensive however. The only birds she seemed to see within the tree branches above were crows, and things were eerily silent. Even the mule seemed to understand that things were not as they should be, his large ears twisted this way and that, and his head was raised and attentive. Matilde held her crescent axe nervously, trying to stop her palms from growing sweaty. Suddenly, a voice, clear and nonchalante, broke the silence.

"And what would such a beautifully adorned warrior be doing upon a farmer's ancient mule in the middle of my forest?" the voice asked from somewhere behind a maple thicket.

Matilde's body went rigid and she fixed the maple thicket with a stone-hard glare. She was prepared to charge the mule at the source of the voice if he proved to be an enemy. The knightess only hoped whoever it was, he didn't have any friends nearby.

"Come out now or I will be forced to make thee!" she barked, clenching the axe tighter.

"Ha ha! How very rude of you, coming into my domain and having the gall to give me orders!" the voice responded laughingly. "In fact, I have a hankering to put an arrow clean through one of the pretty little brown eyes I see through that visor."

Matilde blinked, astonished that this person could see her eyes considering the plantlife and distance between them. "Impossible!" the knightess growled, kicking the mule and charging straight at the maple thicket. A bow string twanged and a black streak whirred a hair's width past her her head. The arrow buried itself into a tree trunk behind her, and looking back, Matilde saw that it transfixed a maple leaf clear through the middle. The knightess pulled hard on the reins and stopped the mule dead in its tracks.

"Not so impossible now, is it?" the man gloated as he stepped out from behind the maple thicket. He was a small man wearing leather hunting gear and a strange broad-brimmed hat on his head. In his hands was a black long bow with a feather arrow nocked and ready. Matilde bit her lip, knowing that this grinning man could kill her easily at the current distance and there was nothing she could do about it.

"I am Knightess Matilde, sworn shield of Prince Gwyndolin. I am on a mission to rescue the prince and any who hinder my passage shalt meet my axe." she snarled, hoping that this smug man wasn't a servant of Velka's. The man's grin faded from his hawkish face.

"Well, then, you're probably not somebody here to cause the commoners any problems. I protect this forest and the villages around it, and with Sigmund and his cohorts trundling around, the folks have been growing worried." the man said, lowering his bow.

"That is the man I seek! Canst thou tell me where he ist?" Matilde all but yelled, kind of startling the huntsman.

"What, you can't be saying that that pretty faced maid with Sigmund was the Prince of Anor Londo!" the man laughed loudly, making Matilde boil with impatience.

"Yes, Prince Gwyndolin ist a girlish boy, but where did this Sigmund taketh him?" the knightess queried excitedly.

"I wouldn't know m'lady, me and old Sigmund didn't necessarily get along. But, I'm not adverse to making a deal. If you talk to the top bloke in Anor Londo 'bout helping the folks 'round here a mite more, than I wouldn't mind tracking that masked villain down for you. Mayhap, I could even rescue the princess." the huntsman spoke, his roguish grin returning.

"I shalt speaketh with Lord Gwyn _after_ Prince Gwyndolin ist rescued, and I shalt be accompanying thee." Matilde responded harshly.

"Have it your way. Come down from your steed and follow me," he said sarcastically. He slung his bow over his shoulder and turned on his heel. "My name's Pharis, by the way."


	7. Chapter 7: Night Falls, Dead Rise

Chapter Seven: Night Falls, Dead Rise

Pharis was quite the astute tracker, at least in that Matilde had to give him credit. Besides that, the knightess wasn't exactly sure of what to make of the diminutive huntsman, he moved with a silent surety that was reminiscent of how Captain Ornstein carried himself, and yet, he was also extremely childish. It was now evening, and Matilde was steadily growing more and more anxious. The forest was growing darker, the crows seemingly growing larger, and the quiet becoming unbearably ominous.

"Canst thou tell how far ahead they art?" Matilde asked as the pair leapt over a small creek. Her armor rattled horribly and she hoped that she wasn't giving them away to possible ambushers.

"Well, in all honesty, m'lady, Sigmund seems know my forest quite well." Pharis answered. Suddenly, the huntsman came to a halt and looked at the ground in puzzlement. "Now what in the bloody hell do we got here?" he muttered.

"What hast thine attention?" Matilde asked, kneeling beside her companion.

"It would seem that there was some sort of scuffle here, between a...uh, giant and some other blokes," Pharis responded, his tone uncertain. "Your prince, he isn't some sort of shapeshifting chap is he?"

Matilde raised an eyebrow. "But of course he ist, Prince Gwyndolin is a master at all sorts of sorceries, changing his size wouldst be a simple matter." Pharis shook his head and laughed.

"I guess his sorceries weren't quite enough, though, because it would seem that whatever he dueled with was tad more skilled," the huntsman continued as he straightened and dusted the leaves from his knee.

"How canst thou be so certain? Perhaps he defeated Sigmund and ist now lost in these woods," Matilde said slightly indignant at Pharis's noncommittal tone.

"Maybe, but from what I can tell, three normal sized blokes got the jump on your prince and knocked him down." he gestured to a slightly flattened area of foliage. "Then, some sort of big beastie showed up and probably carried the prince away." Pharis pointed out a large, obscure footprint that vaguely resembled a skeletal hand.

"Than we must hurry!" Matilde snapped and began rushing after the footprints she could make out.

"Wait, m'lady!" Pharis called as he ran to keep up with the knightess' long strides. He mashed his hat tighter onto his head and grinned. Pharis figured he'd let this Matilde take the lead for a bit, she was an amusing lass after all. The sun was setting besides, soon, she'd need him to start tracking again.

Abruptly, both Pharis and Matilde felt something dark, something cold, something vile envelop the forest around them. Instinctively, the two veteran warriors readied their weapons, a bronze axe blade glimmering in the dying light and a pitch black longbow seemingly apart of the shadows around it. Pharis looked into the tree branches, the crows that had suddenly taken over the canopy and vexed the huntsman so, were all staring down at them, their beady black eyes like thousands of glistening orbs of onyx. Pharis nocked an arrow and clenched his bow tighter in his fist.

Shadows lengthened and Matilde thought back to Noxus in the great hall. "No, this is different," she whispered, looking about the suddenly sinister looking trees. The knightess remembered her duel with the black clad assassin and began looking at the crows above, hoping they didn't start spitting human bodies out.

"Tsk tsk tsk," a deep, gravelly voice broke the silence. "Thou art the one who slayed Senissa, my lady tells me. That ist very unfortunate, she was one of my favorites, you see."

"Sigmund, enough sideshow tricks, give the girly lad back to the lass here!" Pharis called out trying to pinpoint the voice's source.

"Ah yes, the rustic huntsman, the commoner's pet, Paris was it?" the voice laughed mockingly.

"Come out now and I shalt give thee a quick death!" Matilde roared, her brown eyes burning hatefully.

The voice sighed and the crows simultaneously ruffled their wings, causing a cascade of black feathers to rain down upon the pair. Pharis bowed his head slightly so the brim of his hat let the feathers fall to the ground and not obscure his vision, a cold sweat covered his brow. Matilde tightened her muscles and slowed her breathing, she knew in her gut that something inauspicious was about to occur.

" 'Tis not for thou to pass judgement, knightess!" the voice hissed in retort. "That ist a privilege reserved for the Avenging Princess, Velka!" and with that proclamation, the crows dove beak first into the ground. Pharis yelped curses and danced nimbly about the frenzied birds as they committed suicide in morbid tandem. Matilde angrily swiped the birds away from her with her axe, dismembering their descending bodies with each stroke. From where the crows landed, dark pools of pulsing shadow began to form, and from these shadows, skeletal arms erupted.

"Oh what kind of bloody nightmare is this?!" Pharis yelled as he shuffled slightly closer to Matilde who seemed experienced with this sort of mayhem. "I knew I should have stuffed an arrow in your damned gob, Sigmund, you bastard born fop!"

The shadow pools grew steadily, and as they did, so did the number fleshless appendages bursting from them. Slowly, like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, huge monstrosities of writhing skeletons grew from the forest floor. Looking about and realizing their doubtful plight against so many enemies, Matilde did the only thing she had ever done when things looked hopeless. She leapt at the nearest skeleton tower and slammed her axe into it.

The axe blade bit deep into the mound of bones and it momentarily ceased growing. Pharis looked at the knightess in astonishment. Yet, he wasn't a man to be upstaged, so he let his arrow fly at what seemed to be the uppermost skull of another growing skeleton tower. Suddenly, as if in answer to the companion's hostility, the bone towers wrenched themselves free from the ground and began wading towards the two humans. The one that Matilde's axe was embedded in gave a ghastly moan struck the knightess aside with a flurry of slamming arms. The towering mass of skeletons rose to its full height, the crescent axe stuck firmly in the collarbone and pelvis of two unlucky dead people. Matilde looked up at the hulking creature and narrowed her eyes in hatred.

Pharis was loosing arrows left and right, pinning skulls to various other bones, and yet still the unnatural monsters shambled ever towards him. "Damn it, and here I thought I'd be defending pretty maidens from wolves and great felines and such. I didn't really think everybody's rotting grandparents would decide they needed to take chummy old Pharis down the dark lane, ya know?" the huntsman laughed breathlessly as he rolled away from a bone tower's grasping claws.

Matilde ignored her witty comrade and jerked her talisman from her belt. The bone tower in front of her swiped lazily with its multiple arms and legs, but was too slow to strike the knightess again. She clenched the canvas talisman tightly and whispered a prayer. She felt the divine power stream through her body, culminating in her chest and then exploding forth with the wrath of the gods. The bone tower wilted under the miracle and crumbled backwards, bits of bone clouding the air like dust.

Pharis looked at his comrade in surprise. "Cripes!" he exclaimed before shooting another arrow into another tower. "Got any more tricks up them brass sleeves?"

Matilde let out a ragged breath and jerked her axe from the bone tower. Pharis hadn't taken any of them down yet, his agility kept him from being ripped to pieces or crushed, but the knightess could see that eventually they'd corner the wily huntsman. Bracing herself, she sprang back into the midst of battle.

The Witch of Izalith didn't know who to believe. She stood relatively close to the great white doors of Gwyn's bed chambers her golden eyes silently studying the others' reactions. The Four Knights were present, as well as Princess Gwynevere and Gwyn himself. Frampt too was there having returned to Anor Londo bearing ill news of Prince Gwyndolin being kidnapped and his guard, the Knightess Matilde, being slain.

"I shouldst never hath entrusted such a momentous responsibility to a _human!_ " Lord Gwyn spat furiously. The Witch paid him no mind,her attention was solely on Frampt now.

"And who ist to blame for this atrocity?" Captain Ornstein queried sharply. Frampt's grotesque head turned on the knight.

" 'Tis a hard riddle to decipher, Captain. Mine own bodyguard, the good Sir Aldous, died so that I may escape, but before that, my accoster bragged of capturing the prince and that he serveth the 'Dark Lord.' " The serpent's proclamation made the Witch cringe.

There was only one person that could be labeled as the "Dark Lord," yet she didn't want to believe Noxus could be capable of open rebellion against Gwyn…and herself. The room was utterly silent, Gwyn shaking in rage, Frampt in seeming concern, and the Witch in distraught sadness.

"So, he finally reveals his hand, that treacherous usurper. He hast two of mine children now, he knows how to infiltrate my citadel… it cannot be helped, Noxus must be extinguished!" Gwyn's voice shook with contempt as he pounded his fist against a white marble wall, making it crack.

The Witch held back tears. She remembered back to the Dragon War. She and her children were about to burn an arch tree down to the ground, when the Witch caught glimpse of a solitary figure perched on one of the roots, he was small, like a pygmy, and yet, there he stood at the foot of a dragon's lair. She continued watching as he pulled a piece of the root free and leapt off of the tree to disappear into a tiny hole at the tree's base. She was strangely intrigued, fixated, obsessed, she _had_ find out who that little person was. So, without a word, she made her way to the arch tree, the screams of the dragons being slaughtered by Nito and Gwyn and the silver knights being devoured by the dragons filling the air.

"Ist there anybody down there?" she whispered into the hole, her golden eyes frantically searching for a sign of life. Her children crowded about her, curious as to what vexed their mother so. Then, from the darkness, a small hand, dirty and thin, extended from the darkness. The Witch had smiled then, and taken the cold hand in her warm fingers.

A single tear flowed down the Witch's pale cheek and she said with tragic surety: " Yes, Noxus must die."


	8. Chapter 8: No Mercy

Chapter Eight: No Mercy

Manus felt a chill in the air,strange for this time of year, but the young man didn't give it much thought. He didn't give the lack of chirping crickets and whippoorwills too much attention, for the young man was thoroughly engrossed in mastering the spell dark orb. He stood outside the tower, his catalyst clutched tightly in his hand and his large blue eyes closed in deep concentration. Dark orb was his own invention, by using the strength of his humanity rather than his soul, Manus could theoretically create a heavy orb that could deal physical damage when vaulted at high velocity. But, that was all academic, it was time for actual experimentation.

Manus sucked air in until his chest swelled with it, then, as he let it out, he allowed his humanity to spike. He felt the wild energy shoot up his arm and into the catalyst, he heard and felt a cold whirlwind about the small wooden staff, he wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn't lose concentration now. Taking another breath, Manus allowed the whirlwind to burst free, and it did. He opened his eyes just in time to see the black and purple mass collide against a tree, blowing bits of bark and splinters everywhere and leaving a black crater in the trunk. The young man laughed triumphantly, how Master Noxus would be proud of him. But, his elation was cut short.

"Nicely done, boy, the Darkstalker said that you'd be on the... dubius side, tehehehe," a snarling voice made Manus whirl away from the forest. Sitting on the steps of the tower was a lanky man dressed in shabby black leather armor, a mask over his face, a small thrusting sword held loosely in his right hand, and a parrying dagger in his left.

"Who art thou?!" Manus demanded, raising his catalyst and thinking of his spell.

"Well, now, that's a funny question to be asking a man in a mask, no?" the man responded rolling his head from side to side, popping his neck. "But, you seem like a nice boy, so, I guess I can tell you my name. I am Percy, some call me 'No-Mercy Percy,' tehehe."

Manus swallowed and narrowed his eyes. "Well, what art thou doing here, _Percy_?" the young man spat, shifting his weight from leg to leg nervously.

Percy stood slowly, skillfully twirling the parrying dagger about his fingers. Manus took a step backward and started concentrating again, focusing his humanity. Percy's dark eyes appeared black in the moonlight, and those black eyes seemed to Manus to be the epitome of apathy. The sixteen year old began feeling his heart beating fast, his blood pounded in his ears, and a cold sweat lathered his back and shoulders. This man, this Percy, meant to do him harm, he could _feel_ it. "S-stay back!" Manus cried, darkness beginning to whirl around his catalyst once more.

Then, something hard and round struck the young man squarely on the back of the head, and after a moment of searing pain, he lost consciousness. The last words he heard were: "Dubious indeed, tehahaha!"

Matilde was slammed against a tree trunk with such force it made her teeth rattle. The knightess slumped to her knees and proceeded to block the flurry of thrashing bones with her axe shaft, her breath coming out it in ragged bursts. Her trusted axe had been able to lay several of the bone towers to eternal rest, yet, there were so many of them it all seemed pointless. Her arms were burning with fatigue and her brass armor was covered with dents and scratches where the monsters had struck her, underneath the hard metal she was bruised and lacerated horribly. It was night now and the knightess wasn't sure she'd make it another hour, much less until morning.

Pharis was favoring just as badly. The huntsman had climbed a tree after a bone tower attempted to throw itself upon him, it had landed on his left foot and broken his ankle. The problem was that the tree was barely taller than the bone towers and they had quickly crowded all around, their grasping limbs trying to knock Pharis out of the tree top. But, he had come to the realization that if he could place a few arrows in specific areas on the towers, they would start falling apart. This would be exceedingly helpful had Pharis not started running low on arrows.

So, nestled in the tree's branches, the huntsman drew a dagger from his boot and began slashing and thrusting at the flailing skeletal limbs when they came close to him. Sweat stung the long cut on his cheek, and his ankle throbbed something awful. "Gods be damned. What did you get yourself into this time Pharis?" he whispered in between breaths.

Below, Matilde rolled away from tower as it collapsed towards her. Taking advantage of the moaning creature's vulnerability, the knightess brought her axe down in several overhead slashes that sent bone fragments flying about. Jerking her weapon from the now still monster, Matilde staggered backwards, her legs quaking underneath her. She grasped her axe in both hands, her eyelids feeling as heavy as stones. She fell to her knees, the world around her was so dark, the noises which had previously been so rancorous were now fading, her body ached horrendously, her mind felt like it was trapped in tar, all she wanted was to collapse onto the ground and let everything go, she was so tired.

Then, Matilde realized that there weren't any bone towers descending upon her, there were no writhing skeletal fists beating her head to a bloody pulp, she was on her knees, without much fight left in her, and her enemies were not taking advantage of it. Slowly, with more vigor, the knightess looked all about the dark forest. There were huge bone piles strewn about where she and Pharis had slain them and the only ones still upright were all crowding about a single tree, their whirling limbs shaking the oak to its roots. Matilde blinked in surprise, she could vaguely make out a hat amongst the leaves.

Gritting her teeth, Matilde got to her feet and hefted her crescent axe, Pharis wasn't special to her, but she had gotten him into this situation more or less, and therefore, she was responsible for his fate. Yet, the huntsman was more shrewd than the knightess thought,

Reaching into his small knapsack, Pharis retrieved two black bisque urns and held them tentatively. "Well, these should liven things up," he chortled, trying to forget the pain in his ankle.

Taking a firebomb in each hand, Pharis raised them high over his head and smiled viciously down at his adversaries. The huntsman threw the black urns down at the tree trunk. There was the harsh sound of glass breaking immediately followed by a tremendous _WHOOSH!_ as the flames exploded outward and ignited the tree simultaneously. The bone towers drew back from the explosion, but were still charred mercilessly, and they were burned worse as they renewed their attempts to shake Pharis from the burning tree. Laughing madly, the huntsman took his bow in hand and leapt from his perch, he vaulted over the grasping skeletons, and landed upon the leaf covered ground.

The burning skeleton heaps slowly began shambling away from the brightly burning oak and towards the now prone and crippled huntsman. But, their path was quickly blocked by the axe wielding knightess. She looked over her shoulder and gave the huntsman a respectful look, then, returned her attention to the enemy at hand. Several of the burning towers fell, their shifting limbs wreathed in punishing flame. All that made it to Matilde were three blackened skeleton piles, their moans weak and their thrashing limbs smoking profusely. It wasn't difficult for the knightess to lay these weakened monster to rest.

Matilde slowly walked over to Pharis's motionless form, hoping the brave commoner was still alive. Behind her, the fire spread and it showed no signs of abating. Kneeling beside Pharis, Matilde removed his hat, letting his sandy blonde hair spill onto the forest floor. "Art thou alive?" she asked, her voice labored.

She was awarded with a thin smile and a small flash of his green eyes. "I'm thinking that maybe I'm not really cut out for this skeleton slaying business." he laughed. "Damned bastards busted my ankle, this is why I always preferred funeral pyres to burying folks in those Catacombs." He continued dryly as the knightess helped him up.

"The Catacombs? Of course!" Matilde yelped, realizing that that's was undoubtedly where Sigmund was taking the prince. Pharis paid her no mind as he used his bow to flick his hat off the ground and back onto his head.

"Dost thou know the quickest way to the Catacombs?" the knightess asked desperately as she walked away from the growing blaze, supporting the small huntsman.

"Its entrance is just down the cliff from the Church." Pharis responded tiredly. "We got close on a day's walk just to get to the Church, and they don't really let just anybody down their lift to get to the graveyard."

The Church of White, as it was formally entitled, was the Way of White's headquarters outside the Great Cathedral in Thorolund. Havel was Bishop there, and it was where Matilde was instructed in the ways of faith and warfare. She knew that it provided the most direct way into the Catacombs, yet, she also knew that Sigmund and his compatriots must be using another, secret entrance. Matilde could not sacrifice an entire day, she needed to find Sigmund's way into the Catacombs, so, she needed to track him.

"Ist there somewhere safe I can leaveth thee? I must continue tracking Sigmund and-" She started saying but Pharis interrupted.

"Somewhere safe? Lass, old Sigmund has a reckoning coming his way, damn it, and I'm not going to miss it," the huntsman hissed, to which Matilde nodded. She truly was beginning to respect this commoner.


	9. Chapter 9: The Honorable Dead

Chapter Nine: The Honorable Dead

Noxus and Solaire fell through cold, still air. Things appeared almost motionless to Solaire, his mind was dull and not a thought crossed it. He was _falling_ , and there was nothing below to catch him but the azure waters of a small lake. Then, he struck the gelid water with such force it was as if he had been slapped with the tail of Kalameet himself. He tried to breath, only to suck in a torrent of water, he flailed his arms, only to sink deeper, bubbles surging around him, mocking his struggles. Solaire attempted to scream, but all was silent and dark, and he only sank, sank, sank. His vision was fading, the light above him dwindling, the sweet, incandescent sunlight disappearing into oblivion.

But, Noxus wasn't quite ready to die, nor allow his companion to do so either. Phantom like beings composed of shadow erupted from his archtree catalyst, and shot like arrows through the frigid water. They dragged the two humans to the surface with ease. Solaire sputtered and coughed up lake water, whilst Noxus unsheathed his longsword and looked about their surroundings. The two spear-like arrows had been loosed from somewhere nearby, impaling the crow demons and causing the travellers to plummet downward. _Dragonslayers_ , Noxus thought with some apprehension.

They had just been about to cross the border when the had been struck down. Dragonslayers patrolled this area as it was close to the Valley of the Drakes, and answered to Hawkeye Gough. Yet, the wielder of the Dark Soul was confused as to why those knights should be attacking them. The phantoms hauled Noxus and Solaire out of the lake and returned to the catalyst from whence they came. Solaire ripped his own straight sword from its scabbard, still coughing and attempted to stand. Noxus paid the princeling no mind, his attention was reserved for their enemies who still hadn't made their presence known.

"The Ash Lake is just over those mountains, if thou wishest to continue on to Astora, now is thine chance," the terse man told Solaire. To reach a realm beyond Lordran one had to cross the Ash Lake.

"What?! And run from a battle, no, I think not!" Solaire spat angrily as he stood. He took his shield from his back and strapped it to his arm, his reddish brown eyes flashed their former carnelian for a second. Noxus chuckled under his helm.

From the tree line three silver knights emerged, two bearing greatbows, the third, who stood in between the other two, had a fine spear in his hands, upon his shoulder was a green eyed crow. Noxus raised an eyebrow. He wasn't likely to get any sort of explanation from these arrogant buffoons, but that crow seemed intriguing.

"What ist the meaning of this!" Solaire roared, raising his sword. He was answered by a monstrous arrow planting itself in his shield and launching him backwards. Noxus looked at the surprised princeling, and then back at his adversaries. The two bowmen stood side by side, arrows nocked and ready, the spearmen kept his quick pace, walking rigidly until he was only a few feet from Noxus.

"Noxus, thou hast committed treason and murder, for which the punishment is death! How dost thou plead?" The silver knight bellowed as he poised his spear at Noxus's chest.

"Plead? I am a human, therefore I am guilty, good sir. But," shadows slowly crept out from beneath Noxus's armor and his amber eyes glowed like cold fireballs beneath his helm. "Ist thine feeble spear enough to prove it?"

Without another word, the knight lunged, the crow fluttering from his shoulder. The keen spear point flashed brightly in the dying sunlight, it hissed like a tremendous viper, and would have undoubtedly transfixed Noxus, heart to spine. But, it was not to be. The arch tree catalyst whirled with such speed even Solaire was aghast as he watched. The heavy staff parried the darting spear with a deep thud, and before the knight could react, Noxus drove his longsword to the hilt in the knights stomach. There was the crunch of the fine silver armor, the grotesque squelching of the parting sinew and entrails beneath, and the choked gasp of the knight. The knight fell to his knees, blood frothing from his lips, and Noxus looked without pity as the knight suffered. Placing a foot on the knight's breastplate, Noxus withdrew his blade, hot crimson spraying and viscera gushing from the gaping wound. The knight slumped backwards into the mud, never to rise again.

The bowmen loosed their arrows, but Noxus didn't stand to receive them. Rolling to the side, Noxus narrowly dodged the spear-like arrows flying mere inches around him. Raising to one knee, the man shot a bolt of jet black lightning from his staff. The bolt crackled through the air and ended its flight in the center of a knight's visor. The black elemental spear of electricity cleaved the knight's skull in two and flung him backward with such force his back broke with an audible snap. By this time, the other bowman had drawn another arrow and readied to fire it. He didn't notice Solaire rushing him.

Holding his sunlight straight sword in both hands the former prince leapt at the unprepared silver knight. The blade whooshed through the air and slammed down hard on the knight's forearm. Solaire felt the shock run up to his shoulders as the blade sliced through the hard armor and into the flesh and bone of the knight's arm. To his surprise, the former prince's sword had stuck fast in the knight's limb rather than cutting straight through. The knight gave a gruff scream and dropped his greatbow. Staggering away from Solaire, the silver knight clawed at the sword gruesomely stuck in his arm as blood spurted freely from the wound. His screams were cut short as an arc of black lightning pierced his sternum and blew chunks of organs and vertebrae out of his back. The knight was thrown into the lake with a tremendous splash.

Breathing heavily with adrenaline, Solaire waded into the blood darkening waters and wrenched his sword free from the knight's limp arm. A long strip of flesh and dangling bone came with it. He looked back at his companion, expecting some sort of explanation. Noxus was standing silently, indifferently wiping blood from his longsword with his threadbare surcoat, his staff stuck firmly in the mud beside him. Before he could articulate a question, the crow glided out of the air and landed upon the gnarled knot on the staff's top.

"I told those fools to put their arrows in thine chest, not thine creatures." the crow sighed in Velka's unmistakable voice. "Yet, their honor would not allow them to do something so duplicitous." She ended with a giggle, and before their very eyes, the crow turned into a tiny prepubescent girl in a dress of raven feathers, her bare feet balancing on the arch tree catalyst.

"What game art thou playing, Avenging Princess?" Noxus asked dourly.

"Game? Why my sweet Noxus, the Darkstalker and I art bringing thine dream to reality!" she answered, cocking her head to the side and smiling coyly. "Gwyn shalt be punished for years of sins, Seath and the Witch as well, oh, how faithless they all hath been! But, thou, thou art perfect, so stoic, so resolute, oh, I would hath _loved_ it if thou had joined us." Her voice became pouty and she bent over to stroke Noxus's helm with a delicate hand. "Yet, Kaathe told me that thou refused his offers, that thou were only interested in the natural course of events. Dost thou think that Gwyn shalt let the Great Flame burn out? No, he wouldst crush every soul in this world to keep the skies from growing dark."

"It doth not matter what Gwyn shalt do, the Age of Dark shalt come in due time, and if Kaathe and thyself think to rush its advent, then thou shalt destroy many lives. How canst thou do something so atrocious, Velka? Thou art unyielding, yes, but thou art not capable of genocide. Kaathe hast poisoned thee, and I shalt remove his foul head for it." Was Noxus's growling answer. The goddess of sin laughed sharply.

"No, 'tis thee who hast been poisoned, my lord! Thine precious Witch of Izalith hast made thee weak, and thou shalt reap what others have sown, Noxus!" The diminutive goddess burst into green smoke and black feathers and was gone. Noxus scowled darkly, and looked over towards Solaire, knee deep in water with a worried look on his face.

"We must return to Anor Londo posthaste!" Solaire stated, trudging out of the frigid waters. He had been banished, but he had to warn his family, sweet Gwynevere, pensive Gwyndolin, and his stern father, it was his duty!

"No," Noxus answered simply, sheathing his blade.

"What dost thou mean ' _no!'_ " Solaire snarled, his eyes blind with rage.

"I promised to taketh thee to Astora, yet, 'twould seem I am needed here. But, thou art still weak and foolhardy, thou wouldst die before we reached the citadel. Thou shalt go to Astora, young prince, and perhaps thou shalt find thine own sun instead of forever chasing after thine father's." Noxus raised his arch tree catalyst and a tiny black sprite burst from the gnarled wood. It struck the prince in the forehead, and he collapsed, his memories going black. Noxus slumped to his knees exhausted by the spell. All that Solaire would awaken with was the knowledge to go to Astora, his name, and the dream he cherished most.

Removing his armor, the wielder of the Dark Soul dressed the young man in it, hoping it would bring him some protection. His leather jerkin, thick knee high boots, and black trousers were his only armor now, but he still had his sword and his catalyst. Fatigued, Noxus walked away from Solaire and the lake, his thoughts on Manus, Gwyn, and… and…

"Damn it, she better be alright," he growled, his amber eyes narrowing in rage and worry.


	10. Chapter 10: Blood, Steel, and Darkness

Chapter Ten: Blood, Steel, and Darkness

It was uncharacteristically cold for a midsummer night, but Matilde hardly felt it under her armor and sweat. Her head thudded dully, her vision blurred, and her breath came in short, ragged bursts. But, the knightess had it far better than her companion. They had stopped just long enough to wrap Pharis's ankle and put a makeshift splint on it, but otherwise they had trudged ever onward, vaguely following the tracks and sign the huntsman could make out. It was difficult tracking at night, but Pharis was too angry to care. That damnable Sigmund had broken his ankle and made him waste his last two black firebombs, he was going to make sure that masked fool got what was coming to him.

It was strange though, they seemed to be going towards the swamp rather than the Church, but the huntsman was to exhausted to comment on it. Sigmund and his friends seemed to have grown more careless, leaving broken twigs and footprints all over the forest floor. It all seemed a little too easy, and Matilde didn't fail to notice that. But, no matter how suspicious she was, she could barely keep her axe from dragging on the ground beside her, if it came to another fight, she knew she and Pharis were both as good as dead. She bit her lip and hoped nothing else would accost them.

After hours and hours of their enervating march, Matilde collapsed, dragging the startled Pharis with her. His hat bouncing from his head and his bow tumbling from his grasp, Pharis let out an exasperated curse and disentangled himself from the brass covered arm. "Oy, m'lady, you still in the world of the living, or have you departed to Nito's realm?" was his sardonic question as he plopped his hat back onto his head. There was no reply.

Frowning sympathetically, the huntsman crawled on hands and knees over to the prostated knightess. Softly, he rolled her onto her back and removed her helm. He peered with mounting curiosity at her face, his green eyes wide and inquisitive. Despite the dirt splotches here and there and the crooked scar making a hook under her right eye, Matilde wasn't as formidable appearing as he thought. Her face was round, as if she had been plump as a child, her nose was pert and delicate, her lips full, she was olive-skinned with thick brown hair cut short, barely falling to her collar. She wasn't beautiful, not in the embellished sense, but she was plainly attractive.

Pharis leaned close, listening for breath. She smelled of leather and sweat, but then again, he probably did too. Hearing her steady inhale and exhale, Pharis was suddenly overtaken by the urge to do something mischievous. Removing his hat and smirking like a fox in a chicken coop, the huntsman pressed his lips against the sleeping girl's. Matilde didn't awaken, to Pharis's relief, and the huntsman reclined beside her, gritting his teeth as he moved his ankle. Keeping his dagger in hand, Pharis closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.

Matilde dreamed of the day she was knighted. The Four Knights stood before her, Bishop Havel looking at her proudly from the seats overlooking the court, and the other clerics of the Way of White smiled down at her. Captain Ornstein stepped forth, his spear in hand. She remembered how impressive he seemed, his leonine helm fierce and regal, his step sure and proud, she could _feel_ the dangerous virtuosity exuding from the fabled knight. His deep voice boomed throughout the courtroom.

"Matilde of Thorolund, leal cleric of the Way of White, dost thou swear to uphold the laws placed down by Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight?"

"Yes," was her timorous answer.

"Dost thou swear to protect Lordran from all threats, even if it should cost thee thine life?"

"Yes."

"Dost thou swear to perform thine duty, through blood, steel, and darkness?"

"Yes!"

"Then, arise a Knight of Anor Londo, a shield against shadow, a sword against evil, an adherent of the Sun!" Was the Captain's proclamation as he tapped Matilde on the shoulders with his lugged spear, the razor sharp edges cutting through her white tunic and slightly slitting the flesh below. It was a good sort of pain. Her friends applauded, as well as Sir Artorias and Sir Gough, and Matilde knew that no day would replace that one.

But, something was strange. Things seemed intensely hot within the hall, as if the marble floors were just above some blazing inferno. Her friends and the Four Knights disappeared into smoke, leaving Matilde alone in the furnace. The flames were crackling and raging all around her, it was becoming hard to breath. Things were growing dark, and though she struggled, she couldn't keep the mounting oblivion at bay. She screamed for succor, but she was all alone. Alone but for the gluttonous fire.

Matilde's eyes shot open and she was greeted by the sight of burning trees and towering flames all about her and Pharis. "Damn!" she yelled and jammed her helm back onto her head. She shook her dozing companion roughly.

"Wh-what is it?" Pharis mumbled as he sat up. His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open as her realized their plight.

"We must away!" Matilde yelled over the roar of the inferno. She hefted her axe and began helping her crippled comrade to his feet. She whirled her head about, searching for an escape, but there was none. _How couldst I hath forgotten about the fire?_ she thought reproachfully. But, her thoughts didn't matter, if the flames didn't consume them, than the smoke would undoubtedly suffocate them. This time, there really was no way to fight through, it truly was hopeless.

Noxus bounded through the forest as spryly as if he had been born for it. Without his armor he was much faster and his stamina didn't disappear near as quickly. He was racing back towards his tower, hoping that Manus was alright. His student was brave to be sure, but he had the troublesome habit of taking on more than he could handle. He was exceedingly powerful, more powerful than he knew, but he hadn't found a way to channel that power yet, making the boy somewhat of a volatile substance.

Noxus would check upon him first, then he would carry on to Anor Londo to… What? Clear his name? The Sun King and his subordinates would judge him guilty no matter the evidence. But, if he went to the great city, perhaps he could find out what was going on. Velka and Kaathe were attempting something devious, he knew, and he _had_ to stop them. The Age of Dark was something they couldn't achieve, only a human could bring it upon the world. The only thing the Avenging Princess and the Serpent would create was war, and Noxus knew if it came to that, his people would be the ones to suffer.

The smell of smoke made the wielder of the Dark Soul stop in his tracks. Dawn was near, but the dull orange light wasn't coming from the rising sun. It was a forest fire. From what he could tell, the blaze completely impeded the path to his tower. Growling, Noxus pulled his catalyst from the sling across his back. He was still drained from the spell he had used upon Solaire, but at that point he didn't care. Making his way to the fire, Noxus held the staff aloft and gritted his teeth and concentrated.

The power of the Dark Soul resonated in his chest and his amber eyes burned with frigid flames. Black tendrils encircled the arch tree catalyst like a thousand serpentine arms and time seemed to stand still for a moment. Then, like a waking hurricane, a pulse of jet black magic erupted from the ground at the man's feet. The wave shot over the flames, extinguishing them with the force of a mighty gale, even the trees bent under the onslaught. Noxus shuddered and nearly fell from the exertion, he hadn't used this much of his power since the Dragon War. Smiling ruefully, the man regained his composure and charged onward.

The dark wave threw Matilde and Pharis down with such force the air was pushed from their lungs. Pharis gave a yelp as his ankle twisted painfully. Matilde had thought all was hopeless, and the darkness had saved them. _Through blood, steel, and darkness… darkness… darkness…_ The Captain's words echoed through her mind like a prayer that had lost its power. The knightess remembered the Furtive Pygmy, his power enveloping the hall like an astral force eclipsing the sun. She couldn't fend off the darkness then, yet, the darkness had extinguished the flames with a seeming sweep of its hand. _Through blood, steel, and darkness._ How could she continue when her arms and legs ached so? How could she march through the blood, steel, and above all, the darkness with the same resolution as the Four Knights? She was only a human, weak, frail, stupid. Perhaps she should just give up, just lay there in the charred forest, just let the darkness overtake her….

"I knew I should've heeded my mum and been a muleskinner, damn it!" Pharis cursed as he pushed himself up. "Suicidal crows, skeleton pillars, and freakish black winds! I swear by Gwyn's beard after I kill Sigmund I'm going to marry some homely farmer's daughter, sire a passel of ugly ragamuffins, and count myself lucky!"

Matilde looked up at her soot covered companion and waited for his tirade to end. "And how shalt thou slay Sigmund? Thou art crippled, tired, and nearly out of arrows." The knightess stated dejectedly.

Pharis gave her a venomous scowl. "Shut up and get to your feet, damn it." he snarled. Clenching his jaw until Matilde thought his teeth would shatter, Pharis began standing up. His leg shook violently underneath him, but the huntsman neither fell nor uttered a cry of pain. "Your girly prince awaits you, does he not?" he asked pointedly, leaning on his bow for support. He offered her his hand.

"Through blood, steel, and darkness," the knightess murmured as she took the huntsman's hand. She may not be able to defeat the darkness, but she was still going to stay true to both her oaths and the prince. She would not give up.


	11. Chapter 11: Safety Within the Dark

Chapter Eleven: Safety Within the Dark

Manus felt as if his head were a pounding drum. Slowly, the young man opened his large eyes, only to realize he was in some sort of pitch black chamber. He tried to move his arms, but they were shackled to the hard stone floor with heavy iron manacles, which rattled abrasively as Manus stirred. His heart started beating quickly, he turned his head this way and that, trying to find some source of light. He had to find some light, the darkness was smothering him. He didn't know how big this cell was, for all he knew he could be in an abysmal oubliette, dozens of feet below the ground. His breathing was becoming panicked, he struggled against his manacles, their metallic rattle echoing off of the walls. "Help! Let me out, please!" he screamed, his voice shrill.

There was no answer, only the darkness. He had never known how terrifying the darkness was, it was all around him, it was so bleak, so apathetic, how he wished for light! The walls felt as if they were closing in on him, he pulled against the manacles until it felt like he was ripping his arms out of their sockets. He clenched his teeth to keep his screams down, and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't see the endless darkness. But, why was he so afraid? Wasn't his master the lord of darkness? This kind of place was Noxus's domain, in some sort of way, he was still wrapped in his master's arms!

The boy's fear didn't abate completely, but this realization was enough to comfort him slightly. He stopped pulling against the manacles and opened his eyes. It was still infinitely dark, but his claustrophobia was slowly fading away as he regulated his breathing. The feeling of his stone pendant pressing against his chest reassured him further. Swallowing, the young man began to appraise the situation as best he could. He remembered the masked man, Percy, and he also remembered the excruciating blow against the back of his head. Obviously, he had been kidnapped and taken to this oubliette.

"But, to what avail?" he asked himself, his voice sounding meek and timorous to his own ears. No one answered him.

Manus knew he had to escape, this No-Mercy Percy surely didn't take him for the pleasure of his company. No, this had to be some sort of conspiracy against Master Noxus, and Manus would die before allowing himself to be used against his surrogate father. Folding his legs underneath himself, Manus sat and began thinking. Without his catalyst, it would be thoroughly difficult to channel his magic, yet, he did recall Master Noxus once describing another form of Dark Magic, a form that could be used with the hand….

The sun broke the horizon, but its illumination did not warm Noxus. Manus was gone, his tower ransacked, and there was no trace as to who did it. Noxus felt neither fatigue nor despair, only cold hatred. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sat on the steps of his tower, closing his amber eyes in thought.

"Noxus," a faint, sweet voice whispered from the forest. His eyes flashed open, he stood and drew his sword in one single motion, the only noise produced was the steel blade hissing through the morning air.

"Show thyself!" He commanded dangerously. He was fully prepared for another one of Velka's tricks, and he was fully capable of cutting through scores of her minions. But, it wasn't the Avenging Princess that appeared before him.

Alvina was perched upon air, her bushy white tail slowly twitching back and forth. "Thou art meant to be dead,"was her smug statement.

"If thine incandescent king desireth mine head, he should hath sent his Four Knights!" Noxus hissed in reply, he knew where the cat's allegiances lay.

"Ah, but he will," she said, almost sadly. "Good Sir Artorias doth not wish to slay thee, nor Sir Gough, yet they both swore oaths. Indubitably thou canst cut each of them down individually, but Lord Gwyn knows thine power, Noxus. The Four Knights shalt do battle with thee at the same time."

Noxus smiled. "And why art thou telling me all this? Thou art no friend of mine, Alvina."

" 'Twas not my decision. Sir Artorias asked me to warn thee for he ist too honorable to attack an unprepared opponent, even one so treacherous as thyself."

"To be human doth not mean one is treacherous, cat." He stepped away from the tower and sheathed his blade. "To be human means one is destined to die, and 'twould seem my death shalt be grander than most. I hath never wilted before my destiny, and never shalt I. Where art the Four Knights, Alvina?"

The white cat seemed surprised. Her green eyes flickered momentarily with admiration. "They art in New Londo, preparing to begin their search for thee." She answered, her voice lilting with amusement.

"Tell them there shalt be no need, I will go to them, but only if thou releaseth my student, Manus." Noxus replied reticently.

"They doth not haveth thine student." She snickered. "But, I will enlighten thee; he ist in New Londo as well. Though, he is wrapped tightly in the coils of a certain serpent." Before saying another word, the white cat turned a somersault in the air and vanished.

Noxus clenched his fist so tightly, his fingernails pierced his palm. Thin streams of blood flowed between his fingers, the opaque crimson fluid forming drops that hung from his white knuckles before plummeting to the ground below. "Kaathe," Noxus growled contemptuously. He raced back into the forest, his legs hammering against the ground. He would gladly meet his own death, sword in hand, but he would not allow his student remain in the clutches of the Darkstalker. He would skin Kaathe alive and make a cloak out of him if Manus had been harmed.

Manus focused his power into his fists, just as he had done with his catalyst, but he found the feeling to be exceedingly strange. It felt not like a pulsing energy wave, as it had in his catalyst, but instead like some sort of swirling vortex, eager to devour anything Manus should touch. He continued his focus, sweat running down from his temples to sting his eyes. He clenched his teeth until he thought they might shatter, and he focused more power into his fist. Suddenly, like he had opened a floodgate, dark power exploded into his entire arm, making his muscles rip, and breaking the bone in several places.

Manus screamed, but the power wouldn't stop. His arm bulged freakishly, twisting and writhing with the lukewarm energy. He heard his skin ripping like some kind of wet cloth under far too much strain. A hole burst in the middle of his palm, causing the dark energy to escape like steam from a kettle. His own darkness flooded the room, like a dark fog, tepid and gentle. The manacles cracked and whined, the young man's arm alive with viscous energy that made it swell larger and larger. Finally, the iron shattered, and Manus, squealing in fear and pain, grabbed his pendant with his nonmutated hand.

He clutched the stone tightly, his mind running to hazy memories of a kind woman holding him, stroking his hair, telling him that he was loved. "Take this with you, m'love." she said, putting a small river stone into his hand. "It'll keep you safe it will." She disappeared into the darkness. _NO!_ he wanted to scream. _Don't leave me alone in the dark!_ But, she was gone. All he had was the stone. He held it tighter. The darkness clung to him like a blanket now, his arm growing smaller, the pain disappearing. _It will keep me safe… safe...safe…._ The vortex returned, but instead of his fist, it surrounded the pendant. His darkness culminated in the pendant, an air of nostalgia and reverence emanating from the small stone. His arm lay limply on the ground, blood pooling around the sundered appendage.

"It will keep me safe." Manus whispered, losing consciousness again.


	12. Chapter 12: Fear of the Dark

Chapter Twelve: Fear of the Dark

They escaped the forest as the sun was going down. Pharis was nearly spent, his thirst for vengeance the only thing that kept him from collapsing. Matilde too was in the throes of fatigue, but she kept staggering forward, her head thudding with dehydration and her legs numb with weariness.

Noxus walked slowly, his fists clenched so tightly his palms were bleeding. The wind caressed his cheeks and ran through his blazing grey hair. His mind was awhirl with all he had to do; he had to rescue Manus, he had to do battle with the Four Knights, he had stop Kaathe, he had to make sure the Bride of Flame… "No," he whispered hoarsely to himself. "That ist over now, 'twas over before it began."

The Witch of Izalith looked over Anor Londo from the balcony adjoining her chambers in the citadel. The Four Knights would descend upon Noxus soon, she choked back tears at the thought. She kept telling herself it was a necessary sacrifice, for the good of the world he _had_ to be destroyed. She hated him, why couldn't he have been in the light? Why did he always have to wallow in the shadows like he was just an ordinary mortal? He was so much more, she always thought that, no, she always _knew_ that. She leaned against the marble balustrade and closed her golden eyes.

The sun set behind the horizon, the moon rose into the ebon sky. Everything was quiet, the night birds had fled the forest, the wolves hid in their dens, even the clouds had fled. Noxus was walking to the partially subterranean human metropolis, New Londo. The Four Knights awaited him, their own hearts beating deeply with apprehension. Manus was awakening in the oubliette with two men standing over him, just dark silhouettes in the flickering lamplight. Knightess Matilde and her companion, Pharis, followed the tracks of Sigmund from the forest and into the cursed swamp, Blighttown. Only the wind travelled fearlessly throughout the land.

Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, sat alone in his throneroom. It was completely dark, not a torch was lit, and the Sun King looked up at the ceiling, his hard scarlet eyes half closed in something akin to fear. The darkness always frightened him, and therefore, he was frightened of Noxus. Gwyn had tried his best to be a good ruler, and he had seemed to have succeeded. The people were prospering, there was hardly any malcontent, yet always the darkness laid at the edge of the candlelight, eager to destroy all that Gwyn was responsible for. But, was it truly just to have his Four Knights slay Noxus? In the back of his mind, the Lord of Sunlight knew it should be him that laid that soulless pygmy low. He had destroyed countless dragons with his own greatsword and lightning, he had ruled over Lordran for a century, he was the master of the Great Flame! Gwyn looked down at his massive hands, each as hard as stone, each capable of ripping a human to bloody bits, and he saw that they were shaking. How the darkness frightened him.

Artorias sat cross legged in a corner of the room, gazing intently at the helm in his gauntlets. His solemn sapphire colored eyes reflected in the dark grey metal gazed back at him. He kept telling himself that killing Noxus would not be cowardly, it was simply Artorias performing his duty as one of the Four Knights. It didn't get rid of the noxious filling in the pit of his stomach. He knew Ornstein must be feeling the same way, and Gough as well. But, they would do what they had to. Artorias gritted his teeth angrily and dropped the helm onto the floor with a loud _Clang!_

Across the room, sitting languidly on the windowsill, Ciaran looked dolefully over at her comrade. Her thin face didn't give any hint as to how she was feeling, but her almond shaped, pale green eyes bespoke magnitudes of emotion. She hated to see Artorias so obviously distressed, she knew that he felt his honor was being besmirched and to Artorias, honor was everything. She leaned her head against the glass of the window and gazed out at the night. She suddenly felt the urge to spare Noxus, if only for Artorias's sake. She would betray Lord Gwyn if Artorias asked her to, but she was just a killer to him, nothing more. Ciaran closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

Outside, leaning against the keep that the Four Knights were stationed, Hawkeye Gough whittled away on a stump of wood. Gough had never acquired the apathy towards life that Ciaran and Ornstein had, he made it a point to feel every life he ended, even that of a dragon. The giant had always counted Noxus amongst his friends, even if the pygmy didn't share the sentiment. Not once had Gough thought that someday he would have to impale the laconic man on one of his arrows. It brought tears to his massive brown eyes. The giant sighed and put the stump aside, the more he whittled, the more it looked like Noxus's gaunt, lined face.

Alone in his chambers, Ornstein paced about like a lion in a cage. His anger permeated off of him like a flame, and he would only allow the others to see him when he was calm and composed. The Captain of the Four Knights, for the first time in all his years of service, was questioning Lord Gwyn's orders. Ornstein would gladly meet Noxus in single combat, spear against sword, but fighting a single man four-on-one was cowardly, and he was no coward. He found himself respecting the Furtive Pygmy more than ever, seeing as how Noxus was travelling to meet them rather than running away. Ornstein struck a mortar and slate wall with his fist, causing cracks to branch about the thick stone. Blood dribbled down from his knuckles and fell to the floor.

Noxus saw the shrine that overlooked New Londo, a few priests and priestesses praying before the altar and pool. He paid them no heed. His blood was running hot, his palms were sweaty, his stomach felt empty, and his amber eyes burned like cold fire. He hadn't felt this way since he beheld D'spayre, all fangs and claws and acidic flames so far below the earth. He hoped and hoped he could find Manus before the Four Knights, but he knew that probably wouldn't happen. The Lion Heart, the Sting, the Far Eyes, and the Wolf Knight would most likely kill him. Wisps of twisting darkness whirled about the man's shoulders and his eyes glowed hauntingly in the night. They would most definitely know they were in a fight, though.

The night grew colder, too cold for a summer night, the moon hung over all as if she too were frightened of the darkness below. The fear of dishonor, the fear of never being wanted, the fear of killing a friend, the fear of cowardice, the fear of losing a son, it was all there, it was all the fear of the dark.


	13. Chapter 13: The Last Hunt

Chapter Thirteen: The Last Hunt

The tunnel stank, it stank of death and rot, the aroma oppressive and nauseating. From deep within Pharis and Matilde could hear a moaning, slow, monotonous, barbaric and intimidating. The huntsman felt his heart beating deeply and his blood was running hot, they were nearly upon their quarry, he could _feel_ it. His ankle was swollen and throbbing, yet he had all but forgotten it, his head was feverish and his thoughts muddled. Matilde looked at her companion and doubted if he could carry on much longer, let alone have the ability to slay Sigmund. She herself was quite exhausted, her feet felt like lead and her eyelids felt heavy. But what kept her going was the fact that, if this journey was so torturous on her, a seasoned warrior, what kind of toll was it exacting on Prince Gwyndolin? The moaning grew louder.

Pharis stumbled and fell, barely catching himself on the cold, slimy soil below. He growled and jerked himself back to his feet, a searing pain shooting up his leg. Matilde steadied him with a firm hand. "Pharis, I knoweth thine feelings, but I believe 'twould be prudent if thou returned to thine forest. This endeavor ist mine to undertake," the knightess spoke gently, not really wanting the wily huntsman to leave, but knowing that it was for the best.

He gave her a scathing look and jerked away from her grasp. "I am not leaving you to have at Sigmund and his creatures all on your lonesome." Pharis growled before limping onward. Matilde scowled at his stubbornness, but held her tongue. And so they carried on, the moaning growing louder.

The beast was upon them before either know what was happening. It was a tremendous, quadrupedal skeleton, as quick as a whip and as strong as an ox. It struck Pharis in the chest with a massive forearm, smashing the huntsman against the wall with a reverberating _Thump!_ Matilde could only make out the beast's skeletal silhouette, but she was able to slash deeply into one of its shoulder blades before it bit into her thigh. She gave a cry muffled by her helm before it began thrashing her about like a hound with a hare. She felt her muscles tearing underneath her crunching armor, the pain hot and excruciating. The best flung her twenty feet away with a roar of triumph, she landed in a heap of brass and blood.

"My my, thou art quite the bloodhound, Knightess Matilde," Sigmund's gravelly voice echoed about them once more. Shakily, Matilde looked up and saw a vaguely human form perched upon the skeletal beast's back.

"Where ist Prince Gwyndolin?" She demanded, painfully getting back to her feet. Her leg wasn't broken, but it was bleeding freely, streams of the hot crimson dribbling onto the ground from her torn thigh. Sigmund laughed.

"Thou cannot still believeth thou shalt be able to rescue him?!" Was his snide reply. Matilde didn't answer, she only readied her axe once more, her brown eyes stolid and impassive.

"Through blood, steel, and darkness," she whispered. She charged the skeletal beast, the axe blade screaming through the dank air. The beast met her halfway.

Bone shattered under bronze, brass cracked under monstrous limbs, and the tunnel echoed with the immortal sound of conflict. Sigmund, now standing ten feet away from the thunderous battle, watched in amusement. He was a tall man, gaunt and hawkish, his slate grey eyes emotionless and cruel, he was to Velka what Havel was to Gwyn. He had meted out his lady's justice for decades, always taking pleasure in his work and never shirking his duty. For to punish sin was the most noble calling of all. So, fixated was he on the knightess and the beast, he didn't notice the small huntsman seated only a few feet to his left where the beast had flung him against the tunnel wall.

Pharis knew for certain several ribs were broken, and it felt as if his back was broken as well. He couldn't move either leg, couldn't even feel from the waist down. But, he still had his bow in hand, an arrow mere inches from his grasp. He reached out and took the wooden shaft and nocked it to string. His arms were shaking as they never had before, it was as if he were afraid. Pharis was seldom afraid. He drew the string back until he felt the feather on the arrow, so soft, like a woman's fingers, upon his cheek. His heart raced, this shot was the most important of his life, and no one would see it. He smiled and blood trickled down the corner of his mouth to dribble off of his chin. "What a waste," he mumbled, perhaps about the man he was going to shoot, perhaps that no one would see his final act, perhaps he said it about himself. The arrow flew.

It was an amazing thing, the tunnel was very nearly pitch black, Pharis was weak and dying, the arrow shaft was crooked from where it had been struck by the huntsman's leg during the fall, and still it clipped Sigmund's mask from his face and pinned it to the wall on the other side. Jumping backward with astonishment, Sigmund's eyes, wide with fear, shot to the slumped form against the wall. He jerked his rapier from its sheath and fell upon the dead huntsman, the razor sharp blade wildly puncturing heart, lungs, throat, and eyes. "Damnable peasant!" He bellowed. He didn't even notice the massive skull whir over his head, propelled by an axe blade.

"'Tis but thou and I now, Sigmund." Matilde said raggedly, leaning on her axe and holding her side where the beast had struck her. Her helm had been knocked from her head, her brown hair, lathered with sweat, was cast across her face, and of there had been light enough to see her, Knightess Matilde would have been far more fearsome than anything Sigmund had beheld before in his entire life.

Sigmund drew his blade from Pharis's chest and looked at his adversary. He smiled contemptuously and deftly whirled the rapier about himself, the thin blade hissing with icy glee. "Yes, 'tis but us," he chortled. "I shalt bring Velka thine filthy head, sow."

"My neck doth not split so easily, craven." The knightess snarled in return before hefting her axe and staggering towards Sigmund.

Sigmund was fast, blindingly so, his first slash made a diagonal line across Matilde's face, from temple to jaw, the second screamed across breastplate, leaving a thin, gleaming scar on the sheening metal, his third attack, a thrust, would have skewered her eye ball and gone into her brain had she not lost balance and fallen against the wall. Sigmund laughed and slashed her knuckles, making her drop the axe. Matilde's body shivered with pain, sweat stung her eyes, but her heart beat slowly in her chest, like a funeral dirge, sluggish and solemn.

"Thine boast was hollow, knightess." Sigmund licked his lips eagerly. "Thine neck ist as thin and weak as a lone reed in the middle of a raging torrent. 'Tis but a simple thing for the torrent cast that reed down." Sigmund whirled his blade about menacingly, his eyes burning with voracious hunger. He prepared to lunge, the coup de gras, the finishing blow, oh, how beautiful it would be… but Matilde was faster.

She drove the arrow into Sigmund's throat until the leaf shaped head came out the back of his neck. She forced him backward, pinning him against the wall and driving the arrow into the earth behind him. Sigmund dropped his bloody sword and struggled to remove the shaft. His eyes were huge, his lips trembled and his tongue twisted between them. Blood erupted like a river from his mouth and nostrils, bubbling and frothing as he tried desperately to breath. His eyes turned back into his skull and his body went into its dying spasms. Matilde saw none of this. She sat by Pharis and rested her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes. She held her canvas talisman tightly and whispered a prayer. Deific light enveloped her and assuaged her wounds, making scars of the damage she had withstood.

"Fool," she whimpered. "Thou shouldst hath turned back." It was all she said, but not all she felt.


	14. Chapter 14: Of Serpents and Crows

Chapter Fourteen: Of Serpents and Crows

Manus could hear voices, dull and incomprehensible echoing on the edges of his mind, but he knew they were voices. He was numb, physically as well as mentally, he felt almost like a child lost in the middle of a warm ocean of darkness. "... 'tis unbelievable… Pygmy must hath placed some sort of magical spell upon him…." one of the voices said. Pygmy? Manus always thought that term was insipid, especially when used to describe his master.

"No, this ist the boy's power… stronger than even Gwyn perhaps…." another voice, this one with a sage like tone punctuated by a slobbering clacking, stated. Who were they talking about? Who, aside from Master Noxus, could possibly be stronger than the Lord of Sunlight? Manus suddenly realized he wasn't in complete darkness, a dull, flickering orange light rubbed against his closed eyelids. Several minutes passed before the weight of that realization bore itself fully into Manus's bereaved mind. When it did, the young man's eyes shot wide open.

Noxus had reached the lift. Two elite clerics armed with morning stars and finely polished knight shields stood on either end of the barred door that stood as entrance to the city of New Londo. They both seemed relatively young, one was nodding off into sleep and the other seemed to be completely disinterested in his duty. Their armor was shining in the moonlight, as new and untried as the young men underneath. They didn't even notice the drab grey haired man with the staff and sword until he was but a few feet in front of them. The one fully awake reacted first, a hand clumsily grabbing for the weapon at his side. "W-who goes there!?" He yelped, trying to make himself sound commanding, but Noxus heard the nervousness underneath.

The wielder of the Dark Soul didn't realize it, but at that moment, with his amber eyes aglow and his face a pale mask surrounded by tangible darkness, he appeared like something borne from a nightmare. The guard who only seconds before had been on the verge of sleep, was now wide awake, his stomach cold and shivers going up and down his spine. Noxus, generally a plain man overlooked and ignored by others, was radiating a palpable aura of power that all but wilted the two hapless clerics before him. There was a torturous minute of silence that felt like an eternity for the guardsmen.

"I am a man that 'twould not do to trifle with," was the fear inducing growl uttered from between Noxus's lips. The tired cleric dropped his morning star, it landed with a soft thump, his eyes as wide as eggs and his legs shaking at the knees. He broke and ran, stumbling past Noxus and up the stairs to the shrine. He did not stop running until he had reached the church above. The other man was more courageous, for which Noxus respected him.

"I w-would know th-thine business!" The cleric snapped, holding his shield between them and his morning star above his head, ready to bring it down at the first sign of trouble. He had never been so frightened in his entire life, and all his training was failing him, his stomach was water and his heart was that of a hummingbird's. Noxus ground his teeth together.

"Step aside, thou doth not know the mistake thou art making," Noxus whispered. He tightened his grip on his catalyst. He didn't want to cast a spell, he had to conserve as much energy as he could for his battle with the Four Knights and didn't want to waste any on a terrified cleric. So, the wielder of the Dark Soul drew his sword. It hissed past the hardened leather scabbard, its edge caught the moonlight, it glimmered a cold silver. The blade appeared as austere and menacing as death itself. The cleric swallowed and blinked the cold sweat from his eyes.

"I am Benar of Thorolund, elite cleric of the Way of White, 'tis my duty to safeguard the entrance of New Londo, and whilst I draweth breath, thou shalt not enter!" The brave young man roared, they were excellent last words.

"Ah, he awakens, Kaathe," King Theodoric said, pointing a long finger at the boy chained in the center of the room.

Manus looked about himself, dazed and bewildered. His body felt strange, his right arm in particular. "Where am I?" he managed weakly.

He was in the center of a circular chamber surrounded by four men dressed in sable and ermine robes seated upon thrones of stone. The chamber was illuminated by several braziers and the light created made the men appear dark and strange.

"Thou art in New Londo, disciple of the dark," King Edwin, his melancholy voice booming about the room, stated.

Manus's forehead wrinkled in consternation. Slowly, he stood, his chains rattling noisily. "But, why?" He queried next.

"For thou art this world's deliverance, child," a guttural voice answered from above. Manus looked upward and was horrified by the sight. A grotesque serpentine creature with grey skin, square teeth bared, and huge red eyes wide open, hung above them all. "Thou lookest upon me as if I am a malformed creature, and yet thou shouldst behold thinself!" It laughed.

Manus didn't understand at first, and remained ignorant until he moved his arms. Looking down at his manacled appendages, Manus saw that his right arm, blackened and smooth as jet, hung down to his ankle like lank tentacle. He screamed.

"Calm thyself, child!" King Wilhelm intoned, his voice was warm and kind. "Thou shouldst not antagonize him, Kaathe!"

Manus fell to his knees and would have started wailing had he not felt the reassuring weight of the stone pendant around his neck. Why was this happening to him? Why was he being forced to suffer? Why? Why?! Power surged forth from the pendant in a dark mist, Manus's eyes began glowing a dark red, and his right arm began to writhe about shaking the chains abrasively.

"'Tis his own power after all," King Bertrand said with a smile. The Four Kings of New Londo all felt varying degrees of various emotions, but they all shared one thing; an intense interest in the young man before them.

Above them all, Darkstalker Kaathe chortled. "Percy, Siegel, make sure the boy doth not break free from his bonds." The serpent commanded the two men standing at the edge of the brazier light. One was a rangy man in black leather armor, the same that had kidnapped Manus. The other was a barrel chested man with arms that swung down to the tops of his knees, he wore dingy chainmail and had a Lucerne slung over his back.

"Now, now, boy, let's simmer down, we wouldn't want ol' Sieg' here to thump you in the skull again," No-Mercy Percy said, his voice sharp with amusement. Manus didn't answer, the young man simply hunched his shoulders and let out a throaty, unintelligible snarl. The dark mist began swirling about Manus's right hand like a vortex.

It wasn't until No-Mercy Percy and Siegel stood only a few feet away from him did Manus strike. Like a black lightning bolt, the young man's right arm shot towards the nearer of the two. His hand easily palmed Siegel's entire face, chainmail crunching under monstrous fingers, and kicking and yelling, Manus lifted the thickly muscled, big boned man off the ground. There began hellacious sucking noise and Siegel began screaming, his huge fists pounding against the iron grip that held him aloft. Percy drew his mailbreaker and parrying dagger, shifting backwards on nimble feet. Suddenly, Manus dropped the weakened man, and the Four Kings, No-Mercy Percy, even Kaathe drew back from the sight. Siegel wasn't dead, his gasping moans attested to that, but he looked like some sort of mummified corpse, his skin wrinkled and paper thin and his eyes dark, sunken pits.

"It's as if he drained his life away," Percy whispered in fearful awe. Kaathe popped his teeth together in anticipation. His desire would finally be realized through this boy.

Matilde was pulled from her grief by a humming noise reverberating from inside one of Sigmund's pockets. The knightess was worn ragged, but still her mission called to her. Pressing her forehead to Pharis's cheek a final time, she shakily got to her feet and made her way to the standing corpse of her felled foe. Reaching into Sigmund's robes, Matilde felt a large, faceted stone vibrating within. Pulling it free from his attire, Matilde saw that it was a soapstone that gave of an emerald light, stranger still, it seemed to have its very own heartbeat.

Matilde swallowed apprehensively. This wasn't any sort of godly talisman one would find in Anor Londo, no, the knightess felt from this five-inch stone the same bewildering power she felt when the green-eyed crow regurgitated her would-be assassin. This was an accursed tool, Matilde knew, but for some reason, her fingers would not allow her to drop it. The knightess gritted her teeth and began slamming her fist down upon her wrist, trying to break her grip on the soapstone. "Gwyn help me," she whispered desperately. There was no answer save the vibration of the soapstone.

Suddenly, the tunnel began to fade away in whirling green smoke, and Matilde felt her body growing lighter, like her blood was turning into air. She franticly beat upon the stone, eyes narrowed in fearful rage, if this was some sort of trap, Matilde knew she wasn't going to be able to escape it. The emerald smog was all around her now like a raging tornado.

A voice from all about her began to speak: "When wilt thou die! Senissa, the skeleton towers and beast, and even Sigmund failed to slay thee!" An ethereal crow appeared before her, wings spread wide, emerald eyes gleaming balefully, it spoke in a girl's voice, fierce and shrill. "Well, I commend thee for thine tenacity. But, the Tomb shalt break thee, I am certain. Even if thou shouldst somehow rescueth thine precious prince from the Pinwheel, thou shalt not step outside of that place ever again."

"Mayhap I shalt die," Matilde muttered. "But, Velka, as thou hast already seen, I shalt not go down easy." The crow laughed.

"Then, proveth it further, knightess." Velka whispered in response. The smoke disappeared, and Knightess Matilde found herself standing alone upon a giant coffin, surrounded by pitch darkness. The soapstone crumpled in her hands. Down below her, Matilde heard some sort of jumbled muttering and the splash of water. The knightess drew her axe over her shoulder and readied herself. It would all be over soon.


	15. Chapter 15: Sunset pt1

Chapter Fifteen: Sunset pt.1

The sun was breaking over the horizon, mist lay heavy upon the lake surrounding New Londo, a fragile silence surrounded the environment, and a shadow glided across the bridge to the city's entrance. There were no guards, there was no one walking the streets, only the silence and the advancing shadow. Within their homes, the citizens of the city hid, as they had been ordered to, their hearts shaking in terrified apprehension, almost as if a terrible storm was upon them, one that could rend their sturdy stone homes from their very foundations, one that could end their lives as easily as a swift breeze extinguishes a candle. Only two individuals, resplendent in their armor, stood alone in the center of the main street. At the front of the cloud of advancing shadow Noxus walked stolidly onward.

"Lord Noxus," Captain Ornstein boomed from under his leonine helm. "Thou art accused of treason and murder, for which the penalty ist death. What art thine final words?"

Noxus halted, the darkness whirling around him like a silent typhoon. "Where ist my son?" The man queried, his voice chilling and dangerous.

Sir Artorias drew his greatsword and readied his greatshield. Sir Ornstein extended his spear, pointing it at his adversary, and the silence was broken once more by a surge of leaping lightning from the spear point to the gauntlet clutching it. Noxus drew his sword and spread his arms, his amber eyes becoming lurid pools of vehemence. The man didn't even hear the hornet behind him, nor see the hawk perched upon a tower with the sun rising behind his great shoulders. They struck with such lethal pointedness that any human's life would have easily been extinguished. But, despite all his proclamations to the contrary, Noxus was not just a human.

Lord's Blade Ciaran appeared behind Noxus like a shadow, lithe and nimble as a cat, her gold and silver tracers, the one flashing brilliantly and the other the mere breath of night, opened the man's back in two diagonal lines that crossed from shoulder to hip and met in the center of his back. Noxus arched his back and opened his mouth in a silent scream. Hawkeye Gough's bow string twanged, and his massive arrow shot through the air like a lightning bolt. Ciaran rolled sideways just as the monstrous projectile took Noxus full in the chest, shattering ribs like glass and ripping his heart asunder as if it were damp parchment. The wielder of the Dark Soul skidded backwards with the force of the arrow but amazingly kept from losing his feet or balance. Silence returned to the city, the Four Knights watched in disbelief as their enemy continued standing, a lance-sized stone arrow lodged in his chest. Then, everything went dark.

Matilde knew the end of her journey was nigh, she could _feel_ it. The place she was in reeked of decay and the darkness around her was so oppressive it was almost suffocating. She gripped her crescent axe tighter and breathed in and out raggedly. Her heart was numb and her thoughts were slow, she had lost all distress after her battle with Sigmund. All that was left to her was to rescue Prince Gwyndolin. She felt like a worn blade on the verge of breaking, but she had more sinew to sever, more blood to spill, more lives to end for the sole purpose of saving one. The knightess was finished, she knew she wasn't making it out of this Gods forsaken tomb, but she also knew she was not going to allow this place to claim the prince's life as well. She jumped down from a giant stone platform and landed in an ankle deep pool of water.

The room was illuminated by shaky candle light and several men in chainmail stood stolidly by the walls, various weapons that reeked of some dark magic in their hands and strange, black shields in the shape of some horrific creature snarling viciously were upon their arms. Matilde looked each of them over, they were ten of them altogether, strong men of various origin with hollow eyes and pallid skin. Murderers the lot of them, apathetic and cruel, men Matilde would have no qualms about killing. But, what really caught her attention was the three cloaked individuals standing side by side fussing over a large altar. One was tall and broad shouldered, he stood in the middle, the one to his left was short and plump, and the one to his right was lean and stooped over, they all seemed to be bickering about the thing upon the altar. Matilde ground her teeth in hatred and let out a guttural growl when she realized what was upon that slab of stone. It was her prince.

She splashed through the water, her crescent axe hissing through the dank air, gleaming gold and crimson in the twisting light. The men were upon her before she had gone five feet. But, it was a simple matter, they were moths, she was the flame. Blood splattered across the water, an arm fell from a shoulder, chainmail skittered about like flies about a carcass, half a head bounced against a pillar and plopped into the water, the water frothed and surged beneath stomping feet and descending entrails. It was tantamount to a literal blood bath. Matilde was silent the entire time, and by the end she was red from head to heel, viscera and blood dripping from her skin like the rain fallen from some damned sky in some dismal world of violence and malignance.

The three had turned around now to behold their executioner. The all wore macabre masks and threadbare robes. Behind them, Prince Gwyndolin lay unconscious, covered in a white sheet, but from the waist down it was nothing but blood. "What didst thou do to him?!" Matilde roared.

"We studied him," the stooped over one giggled, he wore a mask that looked somewhat like a child, ghastly and haunting.

"We are the Darkstalker's servants, you see, brave knightess. Serving Nito had gotten so drab after all," the plump one, who had a woman's voice, whispered. Her mask was that of a crying person.

"The Occult has been born, knightess, and with Princess Velka and Darkstalker Kaathe at the helm, the entire human race shall have retribution." The tallest spoke, his voice a deep resounding baritone. His mask was the lopsided face of a deformed man. They each gave Matilde an intense feeling of unease.

"I wouldst say that if thee stepped away from the prince I wouldst alloweth thee to live, but, no. I am going to kill each of thee, and pin thine heads in a wheel for Velka and Kaathe to see." Matilde growled darkly, her eyes burning with fury.

The three laughed together and lifted their arms. The woman and child were lifted into the air and in their outstretched palms, lurid orange orbs appeared. Matilde hunched her shoulders and gripped her axe tighter. "I am Prince Gwyndolin's blade, through blood and steel and darkness," she proclaimed. And it began.

New Londo was as dark as if it were the middle of the night. Things were barely visible, it was almost like an eclipse except that even the fire light was dulled. The Four Knights watched in stunned awe, for they had never seen such power, such unbridled, uncontrolled _power._ Noxus was surrounded by a rushing torrent of darkness that filled the sky above, his grey hair had come loose from its braid and now whirled about his head furiously. His face wasn't visible, it appeared only as a twisting pool of smoldering amber and etched with black. His catalyst was a lightning bolt of pure black, arc of electricity etching the air about. Suddenly, the darkness ceased rushing skyward, Gough's arrow disintegrated and fell from Noxus's chest. The darkness sucked into the place where his heart should have been, making a typhoon of shadow in the man's chest. At this moment, all about the city, men and women began to form strange markings on their chests, and they began feeling somewhat hollow inside.

Hawkeye Gough was the first to feel the power of Noxus. The wielder of the Dark Soul hefted his arch tree catalyst and threw it, it moved with such blinding speed none of the knights could react in time. The screaming black lightning bolt struck the giant in the face. He screamed and fell from the tower with a tremendous _BOOM!_ He didn't cry in pain, he screamed for all he could see now was darkness.

Unhesitatingly, the other knights charged their foe. Ciaran was closest, and using her gold tracer, she attempted to distract the god-like being before her with its flowing light. Quickly, she turned on a heel and threw herself in the air, whirling like an acrobat, the gold ribbon of light surrounding her as she descended towards her target. All she wanted was to distract him, she knew her daggers weren't meant for frontal assault, so after her ostentatious stunt she would have to get away _fast_. She only hoped the Captain and Artorias got there in time to exploit the advantage. Ciaran brought both blades down in a hissing arc directed towards the place where the man's neck met his shoulders. She expected him to jump backwards, his sword was too long to intercept the blow now, yet he didn't. With his off hand, Noxus reached up and caught the nimble assassin by the throat. Her tracers bit into his flesh, but for all the good it did she might as well have been using a pair of letter openers.

"Ciaran!" She heard Artorias yell, it pained her so that he would have to watch her die. She looked down at Noxus's faceless amber visage and hoped he'd make it fast. Instead of killing her, he surprised her again.

"To the arms of thine beloved," a haunting voice, forlorn and broken whispered from the amber pool and before she knew it, Ciaran was flying backwards. Artorias caught her and the two were vaulted backwards with the force and they landed in a heap.

Ornstein was upon Noxus now. He sprang towards his adversary, his spear a flurrying rod of piercing metal, powerful enough to split a boulder in two, and yet, Noxus was batting it away with his sword as if it were a fly. Sparks flew as steel kissed and the ringing clamor of conflict echoed about the city streets. Ornstein whirled his spear about, attacking its shaft as well as its point. The Captain danced, his weapon a living part of him, whooshing through the air with such speed and precision it was nearly impossible to follow. Never before had Noxus battled someone as astute with his weapon as Dragonslayer Ornstein. Yet, for all his skill, the knight could not get close to the pygmy. It was an abrupt and surprising thing when Noxus ducked rather than parry and Ornstein was thrown off balance. After all his years in battle, Ornstein had trained himself to recover quickly from his mistakes, but Noxus wasn't like anything he had fought before. The man's sword glided through his gold plated breastplate and slashed the Captain deep across the chest, so deep it revealed the ribs beneath. Ornstein staggered back, gasping and clutching his chest.

The Dragonslayer knew this was the end, he knew that despite the fact that Artorias was mere seconds from engaging Noxus that he wouldn't get there in time. Ornstein wouldn't cringe or turn away, no, he'd meet his death as a knight of Gwyn. He kept his eyes opened and waited for the final blow. It didn't come. Instead, Noxus turned about and faced the charging Artorias. The Wolf Knight had left his shield atop of Ciaran who had been stunned by the force of connecting with his armor, and he held his greatsword in both hands. He drug it along the ground, making a tremendous gash in the hard cobblestone street and he roared a battle cry. Noxus blocked the blow easily, but it still lifted him off the ground and flung him into the wall of a building. The wall cracked and the man slid to the ground, landing on his knees.

"Art thou finished, Captain?" Artotias queried, putting himself between his wounded comrade and his recovering enemy.

"N-nay," Ornstein answered in between gasps of pain. "I shalt be on my feet again, now go! Do not alloweth him any time to recuperate, he ist far more powerful than anything we hath ever faced!"

But, it was Noxus who attacked. He was flying through the air, his sword was an unforgiving hurricane, and Artoias struggled to keep the pygmy at bay. Artorias was incredibly strong, but he had not the speed or finesse of Ornstein. Noxus slashed him countless times about his shoulders and chest, but none of these was as effectual as the one he had given Ornstein. Artorias, seeing his advantage, reached out and caught the man's flashing blade. Swinging the greatsword one handed, Artorias tried to make and end of it. The sword would have taken Noxus in the middle and would have undoubtedly split the man in two, but he did something the knight did not expect. He struck his own blade and broke it. Dropping and letting the greatsword slash a hair's width above his head, Noxus took the half foot of steel left to him and dove at Artorias, driving the razor sharp metal deep into the knight's stomach. Then, just as quickly, the man sprang backward and landed a dozen feet away from his wounded enemies.

"Stand, Knights of Sunlight," Noxus's voice was like a funeral dirge, deep, mournful, and resolute. "For the sun is setting and the night stands before thee."


	16. Final Chapter: Sunset pt2

Chapter Sixteen: Sunset pt. 2

Matilde was splashing through the frothing water, her brass armor weighing heavily down upon her. Yet, she didn't feel it. Her body was lost in the battle lust, her veins pulsing with thundering blood, her muscles reacting almost impossibly fast, she operated almost exclusively without thought. The orbs flashed brightly all around her, striking the water like spheres of molten lead, sending boiling water droplets spiraling about like so many carrion flies. The Child laughed, the Mother admonished, and the Father remained in stoic silence, his arms spread wide and his eyes glowing beneath his twisted mask. Matilde growled and snarled, as if she were some beast driven by blood thirst and hatred. At this point the once noble knightess was exactly that.

A burning orb struck her in the shoulder, singing her flesh, but she hardly felt it. She took the crescent axe in two hands, raised it over her head, and with a shrill scream of intense unfathomable emotion, the knightess flung the weapon at the Child giggling above her. She took another blast in the back and was driven to her knees, but her attack had been successful. The Child no longer laughed, instead, he was letting out choppy sobs and half screams as he fell to the water below, the axe blade lodged firmly in his chest.

The Mother screamed and shot several more orbs at her adversary, but Matilde was exceptionally nimble. The Father stood as impassively as ever. The knightess drew her canvas talisman from her waist and channeled the divine power one last time. The forceful power exploded from her talisman, shaking the entire chamber and sending bloody water splashing against the walls in raging waves. The Mother wilted under the monstrous blessing, her body contorting as she was flung against the wall. Her spinal cord snapped like a dry twig, and her skull split practically in two as it made contact with the hard stone. The Mother slid to the rippling water below, leaving a trail of blood, brains, and bone fragments on the wall behind her.

The Child was squirming in the water, whimpering and moaning. Matilde stood up straight, slowly turning her head to look at her pitifully dying enemy. The Father dropped his arms to his sides and stood as if he were rooted to the ground. Matilde sloshed through the sullied water until she was looking down at the Child. He was trying to pull the axe from his chest whilst struggling to keep his head above water. Under the mask his eyes were wide, terrified, he looked like a shivering rabbit with a broken leg standing before a ravenous wolf. "P-please, spare m-me," the Child sputtered.

Matilde raised one foot out of the water, viscera and blood dripping from her boot in thick streams, splattering all about the Child's cloak. For a while, she simply let her foot hang in the air above the suffering sorcerer. He begged and coughed and squirmed. "Please! I don't want to die, please, Gods forgive me! I j-just want to liiiii-!" His words were cut short.

Matilde brought her foot down on the back of the axe head, driving it deeper into the Child's chest with a wet _crunch!_ He gave a choked wail and flailed his arms uselessly, splashing more water about. Again she brought her foot down. Blood spurted upward across her breastplate. The Child's scream rattled off to a guttural moan. Matilde leaned down, grasped the crescent axe in both hands and wrenched it free. The Child gave a sharp gasp and blood flooded down upon his grotesque mask, flesh clung to the axe blade in long swaying crimson ribbons.

The Father stood alone now, his head hung low. Matilde, her breath coming in quick growling bursts slowly walked towards him. "Now, let us maketh an end of it!" The knightess whispered.

The Father began laughing darkly. "No, this is naught but the beginning," he responded somberly. He spread his arms again and suddenly, down from above, scimitar wielding skeletons descended upon the knightess. Yet again, the room was filled with the abrasive sound of combat.

The knights, save Gough, had recovered. Artorias had drawn the blade from his stomach and thrown it aside, one hand clutching the bleeding wound and the other holding his greatsword at the ready. Ornstein had stood and staggered over to his comrade, breathing heavily and trying to work his mind past the excruciating pain in his chest. Ciaran had crawled out from under the greatshield and was now slipping quietly up behind Artorias, she was still rather stunned but she couldn't just lay down while her comrades were fighting to the death. Noxus stood, weaponless before them, the darkness a raging typhoon above his heart and his face a pulsing, shapeless amber pool.

"One at a time, or all at once, 'tis a small matter," the wielder of Dark Soul challenged. Not one of the three seemed eager to take him up on the offer.

"He cannot possibly keep this up very much longer," Ornstein whispered to the other two knights. "This kind of power wouldst even exhaust Lord Gwyn quickly. When he falters, strike!"

Artorias nodded slowly, Ciaran remained still. "I shalt attack him with lightning volleys, Artorias engage him, but only as a distraction, and Ciaran, try to find a blind spot, and when thou does, exploit it!" The Captain commanded, readying himself. Their attack began with more speed and surety than could be expected. But, they were knights of Gwyn after all.

The lightning came from almost every direction as Dragonslayer Ornstein sprang about as lithely as a lion. Noxus weaved about, none of the golden lances of arcing electricity touching him. But, it wasn't long until the Wolf Knight was upon him. The greatsword was alive in Artorias's hand, it moved so quickly it appeared like liquid silver in the waning light. Noxus moved with greater speed, though, dodging the lightning as well as the sword strokes. But, he gave ground before the onslaught. The Lord's Blade all the while, moved as quickly and subtly as a silent arrow.

Artorias drove Noxus back, his sword a hissing through the air with such speed it was nearly impossible to see, much less predict where it would strike. Ornstein leapt across the rooftops above, his piercing lightning bolts crashing all around the pygmy, leaving smoking pits in the ground each nearly a foot deep. Yet, despite the virtuosity of the two knights, Noxus was himself a blur, avoiding every attack as soon as it descended upon him. But, how could he prepare himself for the assassin behind him, her venomous silver tracer poised for a lunge between the man's shoulder blades?

Ciaran struck without sound, without mistake, without mercy. This one attack would make an end to this terrible duel, even if it didn't lay Noxus low, it would still give Artorias the opportunity to strike the man's head from his shoulders. Ciaran's movement was deft, it was sure, it was lethal, the silver tracer the silent sting of an avenging hornet. It would end with the single strike of Ciaran's dagger, it would end within seconds. But, Noxus wasn't so easily defeated.

From Noxus's back a shadow sprang. It was a humanoid body connected at the waist to Noxus, and it was composed of darkness made physical. Ciaran's blade pierced through the shadow's chest, but it didn't seem to feel the razor keen blade whatsoever. Grasping the Lord's Blade by her wrist, the shadow struck her with its other fist, shattering her porcelain mask and sending the assassin flying backwards.

"Ciaran!" Artorias exclaimed. His comrade lay motionlessly on her back, shards of pale white porcelain scattered all around her. Roaring indignantly, Artorias swung his greatsword with even more speed and ferocity. Ornstein gritted his teeth and hoped Ciaran was only unconscious. The Captain jumped from the rooftops and landed between the Lord's Blade and the pygmy.

Artorias had lost it, he was a bellowing, raging berserker, his sword sundering the ground all around Noxus, showering the street with bits of cobblestone. One strike with that greatsword and Noxus would be split in two like a stalk of wheat in the field. But, the wielder of the Dark Soul was as uncatchable as the wind. Ornstein checked upon Ciaran. She was bleeding heavily from her forehead, but she was still breathing. Breathing a sigh of relief, the Captain sprang back into the fray. The battle raged fiercely on.

The Father had taken his fallen family away, disappearing into the tomb. Matilde hadn't seen where he had slunk off to, but she no longer cared. She stood upon quivering legs, her axe held loosely in her hand, her eye lids heavy, and her throat dry. The knightess' left arm hung from a strip of flesh connected to her elbow, blood streaming freely from the stump. Three blades protruded from her back, each driven deep into her flesh. Her face was awash in a flooding crimson mask, her right eye having been slashed in two and one of her cheeks having been split open, revealing her teeth.

This was the end. She had always thought she would meet it graciously, with perhaps a knowing smile on her lips. But, she didn't feel anything, she was empty, her heart thudding monotonously in her chest. Without her even knowing, her legs slowly began trudging up to the altar where her prince lay. Broken bones and split skulls floated in the water about her, bobbing up and down in the rippling pool that reeked of blood. She dropped her axe and staggered up the steps.

Prince Gwyndolin lay before her, only his androgynous face outside the bloody sheet that covered him. From the waist down, the sheet only seemed to be laying on the altar's flat surface. Matilde felt his snow cold cheek. The prince stirred ever so slightly, his moon pale hair falling across his face. He was the most beautiful thing Matilde had ever seen. The knightess removed her talisman from her waist once more. She pressed the canvas item against her prince's chest and thought of Anor Londo, their home. A golden light surrounded Gwyndolin, illuminating the chamber further. The prince opened his eyes to see his guardian's face one last time before the miracle sent him homeward. The illumination was gone.

Matilde sank to her knees, pressing her forehead against the stone altar. The candles suddenly started blowing out. Soon, there was only darkness. Why had she been so afraid of it before? She had fought through blood and steel, but the darkness wasn't so bad after all.

"No, 'tis only another stage of life, the darkness," a strange voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere. The voice was a forlorn child's, chilling yet in some strange way, comforting.

Matilde looked up, there was only pitch black. Her body felt as if it were swimming in warm water, and her mind was dull. "Who art thou?" She asked, her voice sounding slow and alien to her ears.

"I am the thing that ist closest to thee. I hath been with thee since thou wert conceived into this plane of existence." The voice was a winter chill, yet, somehow, she didn't feel melancholy when she heard it. "In the tongue of the ancients, my title ist Nito. It means 'He Who Embraces.' Now, thou who hast seen hardship, thou who hast struggled for another, thou with the soul of a hero, cometh unto me, and meet my embrace."

There in the darkness, a tiny spark of a flame burning in his chest, stood a mass of skeletons, no, he was a lone child dressed in black, or perhaps and old man with a scythe. It was impossible to tell, and yet, with his arms spread wide, he appeared like the most comforting thing knightess Matilde had ever witnessed. And she accepted his embrace.

Artorias was slammed against the wall so hard it collapsed inward. His head was ringing and he was seeing double of everything. That shadow was far stronger than one would expect. He had been able to slash Noxus across the chest before the shadow had struck, breaking the knight's arm and throwing him through a mortar and slate wall. Artorias could hardly move. In the street, Captain Ornstein and the wielder of the Dark Soul continued the battle.

Ornstein's spear came at Noxus in a flurry, its point stabbing the air so furiously it sounded as if a thousand steel arrows were descending from the sky. Ornstein fought in a frenzy, his eyes wide with desperation, sweat stinging them horribly, and the wound in his chest in terrible perpetual pain. The Lion Heart fought bravely, driving Noxus back with his unyielding assault. Again and again and again, Ornstein struck, and again and again and again, Noxus dodged. But, the man's movements were slowing, he was becoming tired, Ornstein knew. So, the Captain sped his attacks up, roaring unintelligibly.

Despite the fact that with each stroke, Ornstein was becoming more confident that he would win, the knight didn't expect what happened next. Noxus suddenly stood stock still and allowed the lugged spear to run him through. Ornstein was caught off guard, and in that brief moment of hesitation, Noxus attacked. Grabbing the cross with his bare hands, the shadow erupted from the swirling darkness above his heart and took the Captain by the throat. The shadow lifted Ornstein, kicking and fighting, off the ground, its ice cold grasp tight about his neck.

"Finish it damn it!" Ornstein yelled fiercely, his eyes wild and dark. The shadow slammed the Captain down on the ground with such force cobblestones leapt up from their fixed places. Ornstein's ribs cracked and his mind swam, he wasn't dead though. He laid upon the ground somewhat embedded in the street, twitching and gasping. Noxus stepped away and jerked the spear from his belly. He let it drop to the ground.

"Wh-where ist… M-Manus…." Noxus mumbled, staggering slightly backward. Abruptly, the darkness enveloping the city began fading, sunlight piercing through in cold, clear lances. Noxus swayed once, and then fell. Light returned to the city, it was a beautiful morning.

Noxus was just a man once more, the swirling darkness above his heart gone, leaving only the gaping hole caused by Gough's arrow, his face no longer a pool of pulsing amber, his eyes heavy lidded and fading fast. Blood began pooling around him rapidly. Artorias watched on in guilty silence. Gough lay still, silently sobbing at the loss of his eye sight. Ciaran grimaced in pain as she regained consciousness. Ornstein tried to rise, but he was far too weak. The Four Knights were defeated, but so it seemed, was Noxus, the Furtive Pygmy, as well.

From the sky above, an angelic woman descended, her black robes whirling about her like dark wings. Her hood was down, showing every bit of her longing beauty, and tears were falling freely from her golden eyes. Quietly, she landed beside Noxus and knelt beside him.

"Noxus," she whispered, gently rolling him onto his back. She gave a choked cry as she saw the spurting hole where his heart should've been. She covered her mouth and sobbed. Cold tears fell onto his pale face, and Noxus smiled ruefully.

"Please do not cry, I never couldst stand to watch thou cry," his voice was shaking and weak. He reached up and cupped her cheek, her skin was so soft, so smooth, so _warm._ "I never told thee the full truth, just as I know that thou never told me the full truth. But, what I regret the most…" Noxus stopped and contorted his face in pain.

"Do not speak Noxus! I shalt taketh thee to Izalith, there art healers, thou shalt be fine!" The Witch of Izalith lied to herself, clutching the man's shoulders tightly. Noxus smiled again.

"But, what I regret the most, ist that I not once called thee by thine name. 'Tis a beautiful name, serene and strong." He looked into her luminous eyes one last time.

"Quel," he said. "Quel, truly a beautiful name." Noxus wished he could've said more, but his strength was gone. His hand fell from her cheek, his smile faded, and he let go at last.

The sun rose over New Londo, but it gave no comfort to those present, they knew in their hearts that day was at an end.

The End

Epilogue: Final Thoughts Before the Plunge

Manus was losing himself in the swirling dark maelstrom. Images would explode upon his mind's eye only to shatter into a million pieces and disappear forever. _Noxus_ , that name repeated itself thousands of times. But, who was that? Manus once knew. _The Age of Dark_ , that concept seemed so important, but Manus didn't know why. He didn't know where he was or why, he barely had a vague understanding of himself. _Help me!_ He thought he screamed, but there was no noise, only the darkness. _The Abyss_ , a voice from deep inside him spoke. _What?_ He asked. _The Abyss of thine soul, unleash it! Unleash an Abyss to swallow the world that causes all thine tribulation!_ Manus opened his eyes and screamed in a tortured lust for retribution he didn't understand. And thus the Abyss was born.

Kaathe looked down into the oubliette, somewhat frightened of the power he saw welling within the human boy. But, he also finally saw his chance. His chance to stop stalking the dark and finally become a part of it. The serpent salivated and smiled in anticipation for things to come.

Velka, perched upon a rooftop in crow form, looked downward, her emerald eyes crying. The Witch of Izalith cradled the still form of Noxus, her body raking with sobs. The goddess of sin, for the first time since the creation of her soul, felt regret. The course of events she and Kaathe had created was now unavoidable, but Noxus shouldn't have died. He was a good man, he was dark, he was powerful, and she had almost loved him. Taking wing, Velka flew away, disgusted with herself and everything else.

Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, looked at the rising sun. His heart was beating dully in his massive chest. Noxus was dead, he had felt it. His counterpart, his literal antithesis, was gone from the world they had created together. The Sun King no longer had a choice, he had to try and make the light last forever, he had destroyed any other path he could have taken. What was day without night?


End file.
